No Refuge
by Romlus
Summary: There is something for everyone in the Mistral city of Refuge. Innovation, art, and trade. They are what make Refuge so prosperous. So renowned as to be a city state in all but name. Of its five districts there is one that does not thrive in the same glow as the others. The Mud District. As glamorous as its name implies. 'Why', is a question pondered by a few and only in the dark.
1. Prologue

Hiding behind a vendor's silk curtain, a young boy watched the crowd. The Bazaar was packed full of customers moving from shop to shop. Colored sheets were hung between the buildings providing the streets below a multihued shade. The dense jumble of streets that made up the Bazaar formed the pulsing heart of the Trade District. People came in one way and after coursing through the Bazaar's many veins were eventually pumped out another.

In the middle of a market intersection was a quintet of teenagers. Siblings, judging by their matching sandy blonde hair. They formed a small stage out of leftover wooden crates from local fruit vendors. On that raised dais they jammed in a world of their own. The music was blaring and catchy. The oldest of the group took centerstage stomping her feet to the rhythm while playing her baritone saxophone. Her oversized baggy slacks, held up by suspenders, swayed with every enthusiastic kick. Streaks of fire and lightning painted the sides of the saxophone's custom bow. The beast of an instrument was just as big as she was yet she moved as if it weighed nothing.

The Boy listened for a while, taken as he was with the new sound. They weren't the first street performers he's ever heard but they were the best so far. Not because they were the most skilled musicians, there were plenty of those here in the city of Refuge. What set these siblings apart was there synchronized flow and above all, their passion. Thanks in no small part to the grooving saxophone girl. Her energy oozed out from the stage turning their street band into a real performance. Enough to draw a crowd. The Boy knew they'd have a patron in no time. Then they'd trade in the crate stage for a place in the Flower District's most prestigious clubs. Such was the way of things.

Enough time had passed enjoying the siblings. The Boy's eyes, a royal shade of purple, shifted from the small band to track the guards on patrol. The City Guard were easy to pick out amongst the rabble, thanks to their uniforms and visor helmets. They moved in their typical patterns, the ones the Boy already had memorized. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped out from behind the curtain and was instantly swept up in the current of the Trade District.

The Bazaar wasn't a place for unaccompanied children. They could be trampled underfoot by the stampede of tourists. But this boy, who stood eye level with most others' belt buckle, glided through the throng. He slipped through thin openings in the tangle of legs, ducked underneath swaying arms and bags. However, not every leg could be so easily passed through. He couldn't dodge every annoyed kick at him as he scurried about. Shoved by a man in a rush, the Boy fell just once and only for a second before bouncing up once again. He ignored the sting on his knees and continued on.

Vendors cried out in a chaotic chorus, each one proclaiming their product the best in Remnant. They either praised their own wares or that of the passing customers in hopes of flattering them into buying something. The honeyed words of the vendors, foot-tapping swing of the band, and the rustling of feet created the ambiance of the Bazaar. A difficult thing to navigate through even for an adult. The Boy couldn't see anything past five feet in front of him. He had only his sense of direction to guide him. The mental map he constructed in his head was mostly just to calm himself. A trick of his own devising to allow him the confidence needed to put one foot in front of the other.

The pain in the Boy's knees cried out to be noticed, making each step harder than the last. Something warm trickled down from the source of the pain and despite his best efforts, the Boy stopped. He didn't even have time to look down before someone's shopping bag collided with his face. The scrawny boy was knocked to the side where he was met by a swinging leg that sent him flying back in the other direction. He toppled to the ground, scraping his chin against the stone tiled floor. There were gasps and hushed voices as people noticed him. The band of siblings squeaked to a stop, their crate stage not ten feet away. Shaking, the ragged boy pushed himself halfway up when he noticed that the contents of the bag that clocked him in the head had spilled out before him. Juicy fruits, freshly made breads, and wheels of cheese. A banquet.

From the encircling crowd a hand reached out and a voice asked if he was all right. The Boy slapped the hand away and sprang for the food, gathering up as much as he could. He lifted his threadbare shirt, using it as an impromptu bag. With his shirt stuffed to bursting, the boy crammed an apple into his mouth and took off like a frightened rabbit. As if taking up his cue the band of siblings picked up once more, their jumpy beat matching the Boy's flight. Miraculously, the crowd parted for him and so he rushed on through. Little did the Boy know that the crowd wasn't parting for him, but merely getting out of the way of the guard charging after him. The Boy raced out of the Bazaar, oblivious to the fact that he was even being chased. Pain and excitement muffled his hearing. It was impossible for him to make out the bellowing shouts of the City Guardsman behind him.

Outside the Bazaar the crowd thinned out. The Boy took to the alleys between banks and auction houses that stitched the rest of the Trade District together. The City Guardsman, continued his pursuit. Only one of them was aware that the chase was even happening. The Boy couldn't hear anything past his own beating heart. His small ribcage threatened to explode from the inside. Bare mud caked feet slapped against the stone ground, but they were used to such treatment and therefore hardened like leather. It was his knees that had the Boy worried. They were like jelly. Any moment he expected them to buckle under his own weight.

The pursuing City Guardsman fared no better than the boy. The man's gut normally dripped over his belt buckle. It was only thanks to the tight uniform that his ample mass was contained. He chased the Boy far beyond reason, wheezing and sweating puddles in his armor. Any other guard would've given up the chase long ago, but not this one. This was personal for him. The strawberry blonde urchin he chased had vexed him one to many times in the past. It cost him humiliation among his fellow guard. Nothing spurned a man like Guardsman Webb worse than the wounding of his pride. His cracked ego twisted his face into something bloodthirsty. He didn't mean to just catch the boy. No, he's had months to work up the dark fantasies that swirled in his head. Feeding it like a starved dog chained to a pole. On and on it circled, chains wrapping tight. Now it was free and wanted nothing more than to feel the snap of the Boy's bones.

He was close now. So very close. The Boy's run was almost casual as if he viewed Webb as no real threat to him and that fanned the fire in the man's large belly more than anything. Lost in his malicious thoughts Guardsman Webb had no time to react to the two construction workers carrying a newly made window pane across the street. Webb could only yelp before smashing through the glass. The ground shook with his fall. Some onlookers would later joke in a bar that the man's weight crushed the glass back into sand. The gossip would spread until it reached the precinct where it would shatter Webb's ego just like he did with the glass. But that was later, for now the City Guardsman simply laid still on the sidewalk, face kissing the ground. His whole body ached and the shouts of outrage around him made the throbbing even worse.

As for the Boy, he didn't even hear the crash not far behind him. Apple juice seeped into his mouth from where his teeth punctured the fruit. His taste buds danced with glee, the sensation enough to dull the pain of his legs. He skipped along, heading for home. He was not the greatest thief in the city, but he had luck. Even if he didn't know it.

* * *

The sun dwindled by the time the Boy reached the Buffer, a thin strip of the city populated by government owned warehouses. The Buffer stood wedged between the Mud District and the Craft District but belonged to neither. City Guard were on a constant patrol here, more so than any single district. One couldn't get through any of the five lanes without their approval. This didn't stop the Boy. He had found a spot where the number of large cargo containers left about provided him with the means to scale the warehouse walls. With one arm cradling his goods the Boy carefully made his way to the roof where the cover of night hid him from the guards below. The stretch of warehouses leading to the Mud District only allowed for small alley width gaps between them. By this point the Boy had grown familiar with this route back into the Mud District and so made the leaps with just enough effort needed. Nothing more, nothing less. He couldn't afford to waste what little strength he had. Exhaustion slowly ate away at even his youthful abundance of energy.

The Buffer wasn't hard to get across. It stretched long but not deep. One could stand on one end of the cobbled road and stare out across and see the other end. The Mud District and the Craft District. Two worlds within sight separated by three hundred yards of warehouses.

Reaching the Buffer's edge, the Boy slid down a broken streetlight and landed with a splat in the Mud District. It's not a difficult thing to find out why it was so named. Unlike the rest of the city of Refuge, the Mud District had no paved roads or sidewalks. Everything rested on top of a layer of mud that coated the naked feet of the Boy. He traced the edge of the district, taking a longer route but the safer one as well. He moved with even more stealth than he did before. After all, he cradled a treasure in his arms that other residents of the Mud District would set upon with envious eyes.

Flickering candles and the glow of the shattered moon was all there was to shed light on the unfortunate district. Time had stood still in the Mud District. The benefits of the new world technologies and innovations had been denied to them for reasons they didn't even know. Despite these hardships the people living there survived all the same. They are humans after all. They've shown a knack for adapting to their environment. The Boy was no different.

There were no City Guards in the Mud District. Nothing worth guarding so they say. Instead, the local thugs roamed the streets eager to prey on their fellow victims of fate. Even at such a tender age the Boy knew of these thugs. The Mudslingers people called them, but never to their faces. The majority of them he knew before they were recruited into the gang. Former bullies who loved picking on him. It seemed like tryouts because as soon as the gang noticed they were brought into the fold and moved on to bigger more terrible things. Such were the imaginings conjured by the Boy's mind as he trudged through the mud from one dilapidated building to the next.

He stopped to poke his head out from around the corner and peer down the street. There they were, a whole pack of them just standing about doing nothing. That was their primary job. The truth was that this gang of ruffians who hoped to assert their dominance over the Mud District were children one and all. Teenagers and younger with no better opportunities to hope for so they banded together and turned on the very district that raised them.

The Boy narrowed his focus on their leader, the one he most despised. Only six years between them, but oh what a difference six years can make. The Mudslinger's leader was larger than most men already. He was easily seven feet tall. A full head and shoulders taller than anyone else in his gang. Truly a giant in the making. The Boy waited until none looked his way then he bolted into the street. Just halfway across his foot got stuck in the mud and he slid, almost falling face first. A couple of bright fruits fell from his shirt sack. The Boy made to retrieve the fallen citrus and froze. The leader of the gang was staring straight at him just fifty feet away. None of the others took note of the slip up except the giant leader who locked eyes with the Boy.

Paralyzed in the mud, the Boy imagined how delicious he must have looked. Like a succulent pig just there for the taking. He already had an apple stuffed in his mouth and everything. Chasing him down and taking all he had would be a milk run for that giant and yet the large gang leader simply turned back around, ignoring the Boy as if he never even saw him. With that gaze no longer locking him in place, the Boy gathered himself back up and scampered out of there before anything worse happened. He raced home as fast as he could. Relief flushed his cheeks when he saw the orange glow of the candle light coming from the windows.

The Boy approached, stopping when he noticed the huddled figure occupying the porch of the neighboring house. He slowed to a stop in front of the person who lifted their weathered face. Both her eyelids were closed like they always were. Without saying a word the boy took out a fruit from his supply and handed it out towards the old woman who plucked it from his grasp. She caressed the fruit, feelings its shape before bringing it to her nose and sniffing.

"Clementine." She rasped.

The boy giggled, "How did you know?"

The old hag scraped what few teeth she had against the apple's skin. "Gifts of juicy sweets and cherry company. Who else is so nice to Blind Shan? No one, no one, but young Clementine." She paused in her searching of the apple upon discovering the chunk missing from it. "What's this?"

"Sorry about that. In my rush I kinda chomped down on it."

Blind Shan cackled, "So sweet you are, my Clementine. But I do not deserve to steal from your hard-earned plunder. A trade I'll offer you instead." Blind Shan rummaged through her tattered bag and pulled out a hardcovered book, which she handed to Clementine.

The book was as wrinkled as she was and rough to the touch. The archaic cover had no title. Whatever image was painted onto its surface had long since faded. Clementine flipped the book open with his thumb. The yellowed pages moved past his eyes, their images, words and general format familiar to him.

"Fairy Tales?" he asked in disbelief, "They're children's stories."

"And here I conjured you, a child." She cackled to herself before shrugging, "I never understood one's insistence that they are older than they actually are. Who wants to grow old and decrepit? Regardless, these are no fairy tales. They're real. The Maidens of the Seasons. The tale of the two brothers. All of it."

Clementine eyed the book with renewed interest, "If it's as you say then I can't accept it. This is an unfair trade."

"What are books to the blind? Nothing but paperweights and kindle!" Her long-nailed fingers started peeling away the apple's skin, "Our gifts are not equal, aye. You part with something you can use, I part with something useless."

"But your wrong," pouted Clementine, "this is worth more to me than any apple."

She paused in her peeling and looked Clementine straight in the face. Her wrinkled eyelids tensed and creased as she somehow focused in on him. Her stare made Clementine fidget. "Yes," she said at last, "I can see that it does."

"How?"

She didn't answer at first, but instead turned to study the sky. Whatever she saw in her sightless gaze caused her shoulders to sag. "Go, run home. Your sister is worried about you."

"But how can you know if you can't see?"

Blind Shan cracked a grin, but the gesture seemed devoid of any real humor. "She's been pacing all night, shouting her frustrations. I can hear it all just fine sitting here. Risa works hard for you both. Though it may not always seem like it, she loves you very much. You would do right to appreciate her as much as you can." She shooed him away, "Go, go, before you get caught in this storm."

"What storm?" asked Clementine.

* * *

Her patience had burned dangerously close to the end of its fuse by the time the front door creaked open. Risa Clementine stood waiting in the kitchen for her little brother to poke his head in as he so often did when he knew he was in trouble. The floorboards groaned underneath his weight as he crept to the edge of the doorway. His breathing was loud enough to reach Risa's ears.

"You're not mad are you?" His voice trembled like a frightened mouse.

"I was mad the first time," said Risa, her voice hard but smooth as paved stone. "How do you think I feel now?"

At last Augustus Clementine, her little brother, stepped into view. Scrawny arms cradled the upturned shirt, which held whatever he stole that day. Tears welled in his eyes and his bloodied knees shook uncontrollably. "I'm sorry." He sniffled.

Risa's authoritative façade cracked and she rushed towards her brother who fell into her embrace. She lifted him with troubling ease. He turned to putty in her arms and as she carried him to the table the many fruits of his labor tumbled out onto the floor. "What happened?" she whispered.

His eyes brightened, "I was in the Bazaar. There was music and people. So many. I walked amongst them. Risa, you should've seen it. I walked amongst them!" He burst into a giggle.

She dabbed his scraped chin with her sleeve, "But what happened to your knees and face?"

"Opportunity hit me over the head." He slid from her arms and gathered up the food. "Look what I got this time. Have you ever seen a bigger piece of cheese?" He held it up for her to see. "Why do they make them into wheels? Why not triangles? I would love a cheese triangle the size of my head. I've got breads too. Fresh ones. Without spots in them. And fruits. So many I don't know what kind they are! Round and soft. Curved and soft. They're all soft really except for apples. I had an apple, but I gave it to Blind Shan."

"Enough!" her voice was harsher than she intended and it damn near shattered Augustus. Seeing that look on his face was like a lash across Risa's back. "None of it matters. Not if you get hurt. You understand me?"

He cocked his head, "But if I get hurt, then you won't."

Risa flinched at his words, "No, that-that's not how it works, Augustus. The world isn't that simple. Seeing you hurt, hurts me even more."

She watched her words sink into him. They weighed him down to the floor where he curled up and began to weep. Risa cursed herself and moved to comfort her little brother. Had she been this way when she was his age? So naïve? So, prone to emotion? Those times were blurry to her. It seemed that their roles were always fixed like this. With her mothering over him and failing at every turn. She blamed herself, but it wasn't her fault. How can one who grew up absent a mother have any indication on what it meant to be one? They were alone now in this crooked house too big for the two children living in it. Risa understood why little Augustus did the things he did. It was all for her. Always and completely. She was all he had. It made her feel guilty when she couldn't say the same. But secrets took their time in revealing themselves.

Risa let Augustus tire himself out. It didn't take long before his breathing fell into the slow rhythmic pattern of sleep. She bandaged up his knees and collected the food he had scavenged. How he managed to get all that was beyond her understanding. Augustus continuously surprised her in what he was capable off. Still, an arm's load of fruit, bread, and cheese wasn't something to risk his life for. Risa leaned out the window careful not to knock over her collection of plants that lined the windowsill. Thunder rumbled in the sky above and a single raindrop splashed against her cheek. Like a solitary tear, it trickled down her face.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, "If you're listening I want you to know that he's back, safe and sound." More rain drizzled down. Risa held out her hand and let the droplets collect in her palm. "Looks like a bad one. Be safe out there, will you? You listening? You better be listening." She closed her eyes and began to hum a soft toon.

* * *

A child's imagination is a beautiful thing. Most lose it over time and can only dream of retaining their past wonders. If left unchecked a child's imagination can grow wild. So strong are these fantasies that they can cement themselves into the reality of a child's mind. That is what took place in young Clementine's head. He sat that night enraptured by a book gifted to him by a blind old woman. Engrossed by the stories of heroes, monsters, and maidens of the seasons. Stories that the general public viewed as just that, stories. Mere fantasy to entertain and teach the young and childish. However, without the check of an adult a child can grow to view these fantasies as true historical tales. There is nothing wrong with that in the slightest. In this grim world of Remnant who has it in their heart to deny a child's perception of a better world? Not the sister, nor the giant, and certainly not the blind woman responsible for filling the child's head with such wonder knowing full well the risks entwined with knowing the truth of things. Who's to say her motivation for such a thing? Blind Shan saw so many possibilities with young Clementine. Only thing left to do was wait and see.

But enough of that, Clementine finished reading for now. Even as a child he understood what it meant to savor something. So, he slipped the book away in his secret hiding place below the floorboards of his bed, where he stored all his personal treasures. He did his best to keep quiet else risk waking his sister sleeping in the next room. Blind Shan was right, Risa worried so much over him and deserved her rest.

The house yawned this time of night as if still settling in the mud. Rain battered relentlessly upon the roof. Streams of it seeped through the cracks and trickled down into bowls scattered in multiple places throughout the house. Clementine scratched at the bandages wrapped about his knees. On these nights, the usual stench of the Mud District was temporarily washed away with the freshness of the rain. That clean air filled the young boy's lungs. He just couldn't resist. Employing the stealth of a thief he checked on Risa just to make sure she still slept before creeping up the ladder to the attic.

Risa had known about her brother's odd habits for some time now so when she heard the pitter-patter of his feet move to check on her, she feigned sleep. He wasn't nearly as sneaky as he thought he was. It's what frightened her the most. How he's survived so far in the city without getting caught was a miracle. After waiting an appropriate amount of time Risa followed her little brother where she knew he'd be, the attic. She had told him again and again not to go up there. The window had been shattered along with a good portion of the wall, leaving the attic exposed to the elements.

Of course it was there she found him, silhouetted by the flashes of lightning. He stood firmly in place just a few feet from the edge, legs shoulder width apart. All the shakiness in his knees from just a few hours, gone. The rain pelted him, soaking through his clothes but he didn't care. Stretching out before him was the entirety of the Mud District and beyond that, the rest of Refuge. The streets below had turned into a mudslide. Risa watched from the top rung of the attic ladder, her lilac eyes wide.

The storm raged in the night sky. Young Clementine's arms flew about him. Lightning streaked in the dark clouds and with the flick of his wrist came the answering boom of thunder. His movements matched in time with the storm or perhaps the storm matched with him. It was too close for Risa to tell. She told herself it was the former not the latter. And yet her mind wondered.

Augustus Clementine, her little brother of ten years old, a conductor of a tempest.

* * *

Not far from the Clementine household a young man trudged out into the mud. He leaned into the heavy winds, brute forcing his way forward. His long braids of hair whipped out behind him like a tattered cape. Most other boys his age would've been beaten down by this monster of a storm, but not him. He stood firm as if rooted to the ground while all around him buildings quaked. The howling wind and pelting rain made it difficult to hear much of anything. But he could hear it, the resounding echo of something like thunder but not quite rolling over the Spine and down into the valley. The leader of the Mudslingers lifted his head. His gaze held on a distant home with a caved in attic before reluctantly looking past it. The sky above and beyond the Spine distorted in flashes of red and green, colors not naturally found in a storm. With each luminous flare there was that sound, so very much like thunder but somehow more destructive in nature. Numbed by the cold the young man shivered with each burgeoning detonation.

* * *

Eager to begin his day, young Clementine skipped down the steps and found his breakfast prepared and waiting for him on the table. An assortment of yesterday's acquired breads and cheeses were elegantly displayed on a plain napkin. Risa had a pretty way of doing things. It showed in just about everything she did, her collection of plants being the most obvious example. Even mundane tasks such as breakfast had their own grace. However, the seat where his sister usually sat was empty. She no doubt left in the early hours of the morning to work. Clementine disliked eating alone so he wolfed down the food and scampered out the door.

Everything had a way of shining the morning after rain. The wooden district gleamed as if coated with a new oil. Even the mud shimmered for a time. Without any treasures to protect, Clementine allowed himself to take a leisurely pace through the Mud District.

It was a day like any other. It could rain fire and the people of the Mud District would still come crawling out of their homes the next morning to begin their day. Already wooden beams were being hammered down, connecting paths across the swampy street. A few houses down Clementine spotted a group of children around his age. They chased each other, giggling all the while. He knew them of course. Former classmates heading to Mr. Greenberg's school for the day. Well, as close to a school as anyone knew in the Mud District, but in truth it was more of a daycare. A place for adults to leave their kids while they worked. To keep them out of trouble. Clementine waited for them to pass before continuing on his way. He had stopped going to Mr. Greenberg's weeks ago. Greenberg was a kind man, but Clementine thought he learned all he could from him already. Besides, he preferred being on his own rather than with that rambunctious lot of kids.

From beam to beam he went, moving through the Mud District. Along the way he passed others he recognized including Old Gran who gifted him with a warm smile. The storm had done some damage to her potato farm, but there were already others helping to fix it. As far as Clementine knew she was the closest thing to a guardian this district had. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. Old Gran took care of this community. If you needed food, she'd scrape some up. Clothes? She has something to keep you warm. Company? Her door was open to everyone. That's why it was no surprise to see the people helping to restore her place back to normal.

Clementine waved before passing by. He tippy toed his way across a rather skinny wooden plank, eyes fixed on his footing. Halfway across a harsh laugh stopped him in his place.

"Playing hooky again?" asked the older boy waiting on the other end of the plank.

"You're one to talk. What do you want, Naz? I'm busy today."

Naz snarled, showing his yellowed teeth. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"I know you have a way through the Buffer. How else you get past the guards?" he stomped one foot onto the plank, "Tell me."

"Or what?"

Naz paused then as if he didn't consider past his initial threat. "Or I'll make you tell me."

"Only if you can catch me!"

Letting out a growl, Naz started marching his way across the thin plank. Clementine slowly backed away, step by step. When Naz reached the center of the plank Clementine leapt forward. The older boy hadn't expected that at all judging by the sheer panic in his eyes. Clementine landed on Naz's shoulders. The thin plank splintered and snapped underneath the bully's feet. Naz fell, crumpling to his knees before falling face first into the wet mud. Standing on his back, Clementine kicked off and landed on the remaining half of the plank. With hands and feet, he scrambled up to the porch of the building across the street and hurried on his way. Naz's rage filled cries swallowed the street behind him. That bully hated everyone it seemed, but he held a special place in his stunted heart for Clementine. Clementine had no idea why Naz hated him so much. Or why any bully hated him for that matter. But he hated them in return and that hatred filled him with a sly satisfaction in listening to Naz's outrage.

After putting some distance between them, Clementine secreted himself into an empty street that for as long as he could remember had been abandoned. A sinkhole had emerged here once before he was born. Things like that aren't uncommon in the Mud District, but one of this scale was something else entirely. The whole street was tossed about as if put through a mixing bowl with a hungry child holding the spoon. All the buildings either sunk or were damaged beyond recognition in the sinkhole's churning. Since then no one dared live here or even so much as approach for a taboo it had become. This made it easy for Clementine to disappear without anyone taking notice.

While the Buffer was easy enough to slip through at night, the same could not be said when the sun was out. Lucky enough for him when that sinkhole destroyed this street, in the process it also revealed a secret passage. A tunnel that goes underneath the Buffer with an exit that allowed Clementine to pop up right in the middle of the city. As far as Clementine knew, it was his secret alone and he had no intention of sharing such a prize over to someone like Naz. A safe route in and out of the Mud District was not something the Mudslingers should have access to.

After pushing the old cart hiding the tunnel's entrance, Clementine slipped inside and began to crawl. Wooden ribs maintained the tunnel's cavernous shape. The only disturbance being the occasional city pipe, which Clementine had to either duck under or crawl over.

It took hours to reach the exit and the whole way he couldn't help but think of the reason, why. Why must he go through so much trouble just to enter a city he was already a part of? His presence in the main districts was somehow an offence to those living there. One he has been told was punishable. It didn't make much sense to his young mind. He's walked the thief's road of the city rooftops and seen all that's below. Children play about freely in the city. The only difference between them and him as far as he could tell was the clothes they wore. The four other districts still had their poor, their waifs. Like those street performing siblings the other day. Yet they aren't treated nearly as badly as those found with mud on their feet. This notion gnawed at him even then.

Dark thoughts scratched at the wall he put up to keep them at bay. Crawling in that tunnel half blind, those thoughts thrived. They hammered against that mental wall, chipping it away piece by piece. With each visit into the city they grew stronger. Still, young Clementine dared not let them out where the light could touch them. Where Risa could see them. She'd cry, he knew she would. Cry for him…because of him. So he held on with both hands. They festered in their restraints, forming a pit the size of an acorn in his gut that left him numb. The world was a nightmare, an illusion he could not wake from. He clawed his way through the tunnel now with fevered desperation as if he were trying to escape.

Not far ahead there came a sliver of light. A simple ray that for the moment personified everything Clementine dreamed about. Upon reaching the light he thrust his smeared face underneath it like a starving child might for some trickling source of water. The sun's warm glow was a touch of life that burned away the sickening numbness. From its warmth he could tell the day was still here. Hard to keep track of time in the tunnel where it's always night. Rising onto his haunches, Clementine pressed his palms against the tunnel roof and pushed with all his might. After a brief second's resistance the layer gave way.

Clementine poked his head out like a gopher and spun around to make sure the coast was clear before climbing all the way out. The alley where he emerged was usually empty. After all, it was just a small crevasse between two buildings. It was home only to a family of rats he'd grown fond of. He slid the chunk of cement that covered the makeshift manhole back into place before edging towards the alley's mouth. Peering out from behind a couple of trash cans he watched a traffic of people flow past without so much as glancing into the indistinct alleyway. Just a couple of more steps out into the street and he would be right in the heart of the Flower District, home to Refuge's extravagance. Tourists from all over Mistral visited to get a taste of its nightlife. There was but one place that held such an attraction in Clementine's eyes. Like strings laced into his heart his desire tugged him forward, into the bustling street.

Like a needle weaving through fabric Clementine danced through the crowd, using their mass of bodies to hide himself from their very sight. How dangerous it would be for the young boy if people simply looked down every once and awhile to see what slipped past their feet. Luckily for him, the glamour of the Flower District compelled the people to keep their gazes upward.

Free of any disruptions, Clementine made good time. Wasn't long until his destination was before him. The World Theatre wasn't all that grand in comparison to the rest of the Flower District. It didn't have the same glow that resonated from the clubs, casinos, and raves that dominated the district. Not to mention the poor state in which the theatre was in. It was an old place looked to be held together by duct tape. Perhaps it was that damaged look to it that first grabbed Clementine's attention.

Instead of entering through the front revolving door, Clementine moved around the back of the theatre. There by a propped open backdoor were two women in burlesque sharing a smoke and gossip. In their costumes, which they wore most of the time they could've been anywhere from twenty-eight to fifty-eight years old. The first to catch sight of Clementine nearly choked on her cigarette.

"Oh dear," she exclaimed, "why is it you always appear so caked in filth."

Clementine examined himself. He was covered in grime with dirt buried in his fingernails so deep as to make them look black. "I'm used to it, Monnie." Said the boy with a shy smile.

The second woman, Merri, knelt until she was eyelevel with Clementine and ran her hand through his hair, squeezing out the mud like one might expel water from a wet towel. "It should be a crime to hide such a beautiful shade."

"Am I too late?" he asked.

"You made it by the skin of your teeth. The show is about to begin. You know you could use the front door like everyone else? People here won't mind."

"But then I won't see you two, will I? Now that should be a crime."

The two women exchanged a startled look before bursting into laughter. "You're too sweet. And a gentlemen to boot. I fear for any girl who tries her charms on you. They'll surrender their hearts before they even know what happened."

Merri licked her fingers and fiddled with his hair before backing up in satisfaction of her work. "Hurry along inside now, before you're truly late."

Clementine hurried inside. An unbelievable amount of costumes and props littered the World Theatre's backstage. The cases of musical instruments lined the walls like an armory. No one paid him any mind, they were too busy running back and forth with their own tasks. Performers fluttered about either stretching their limbs or vocal chords. Stagehands hoisted the ropes, raising the curtain, which was met by a pitiful amount of applause. The show was underway. Clementine rushed for the side ladder, barreling through racks of dresses. Up he went, all the way to the top, then across the catwalk where Adriane worked the lights that lit up the stage. The girl, his own age, shot him a glare before returning her attention to the lights. She didn't bother him as long as Clementine got out of her way when she came marching past.

From up here he had a view of everything. The stage where the actors were giving their performance. The rows of red seats where a paltry audience watched with mild enthusiasm. In the middle of them both was the pit where the band played, giving the performance a live soundtrack. Clementine perched himself on the railing of the catwalk. His legs dangled in the air, kicking up and down in rhythm with the music. Below him several performers emerged in suits of black fur to represent creatures of Grimm. They attacked the heroic protagonists of whatever story the play was telling. Clementine rarely understood the story. He didn't have to. He just followed along with the music. It conveyed everything he needed to know in order to understand what was happening. Even without a human voice the music sang to him in a way that no words could ever reach.

He laughed, he cried, he cheered when his two shapely friends came sauntering out onto the stage. It was a magical performance. One that stretched through the day, each play stitched together with improv, much like a book of short stories failing to point out when one ended and the next began. Nothing less than what he expected from the World Theatre. To Clementine, the true crime here was the lack of a proper audience. One that they surely deserved, but never seemed to have. The injustices of living in the Mud District were as nothing compared to this. Young Clementine didn't even recognize his way of life as an injustice, not yet anyway. But with each visit into the city he learned a little more.

 _Dark thoughts for dark places._

The succession of performances lasted all day and by the end of it Clementine had moved off the catwalk and onto the stage itself. No one had bothered lowering the curtain. What few spectators remained in the auditorium were passed out and probably drunk. Clementine stalked towards the stage's edge where he peered over into the pit. The conductor of the band, an old man with withering gray hair, was too busy rifling through sheets of music to notice the boy. When the conductor gathered the rest of his things a piece of the music stand came with them, specifically the head of the stand. It simply popped off, leaving the pole behind. With a grumble the conductor jammed the head back onto the pole which in turn caused the whole stand to fall off the podium. Row upon row of music stands fell like dominoes, spreading out from the conductor's podium.

Clementine was too slow to stifle his giggle, which drew the old man's gaze. His imploding rage dissipated upon setting his gentle eyes on the boy.

"This place is falling apart!" Complained the conductor.

"It holds together."

"It's been holding together for years now. I'm worried one unlucky sneeze would topple the whole thing."

"Don't even joke." Clementine hopped down into the pit and assisted the old man in righting the fallen music stands.

"Monnie and Merri told me you were here."

"How? You were in the pit all day."

He chuckled, "They kept glancing upwards while on stage. They didn't say a word, but they told me all I needed to know nonetheless. So, I take it you enjoyed the shows today?"

"Do you even need to ask, Spool? If you can tell that much from where a person looks then you can guess what I thought of the show."

"My powers of perception are both a gift and a curse." Spool narrowed his bushy brows at Clementine, "Something is bothering you."

Clementine startled back almost undoing all they fixed so far, "What makes you say that?"

"Your head droops more than usual and you stare distractedly at your feet for some time before your eyes dart around as if waking up. Tell me, what's on your mind."

"Nothing." Snapped Clementine.

"Ohhh, nothing eh? Doesn't sound like nothing to me."

"You won't like it."

"Perhaps, but we will never know until you say."

Clementine was slow to speak, "Spool, can you tell me why the city hates me?"

Spool started as if slapped across the face, "I don't hate you, boy."

"No," admitted Clementine with a smile, "you don't. You, Monnie, Merri…the only friendly faces I've met outside the Mud District."

"What about Adriane?" asked Spool.

Clementine resisted the urge to glance up at the catwalk. "She scares me."

Spool chuckled, "That's because she is a girl."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, nothing. Go on, Clementine. What is it you're trying to say?"

"The Mud District…We're secluded from the rest of Refuge. I see no obvious difference between us and yet we're treated like pests. Please tell me why. Risa won't answer me. No one ever gives me a straight answer. They act as if it's a secret I should already know about."

Spool eased himself into a seat next to Clementine. "You know, people forget that the Mud District was were the city of Refuge was born. Generations ago our ancestors stood there, backs against the Spine and ankle deep in the muck. Their last stand against a horde of Grimm. They fought and they won…Settled where they stood. Everything else branched out from there."

He sighed, "Times change. With the natural defense of the Spine encircling the valley coupled with the growing population, the threat of the Grimm decreased. Without a common enemy, humans and faunus alike turn on each other. Over such petty things. Take the Great War for example. Look at us today. We've expanded, but we haven't grown. Do you understand what I mean?"

"I think so." Clementine's throat was dry causing his voice to squeak. "But how does that have to do with the Mud District now?"

"You're asking dangerous questions, Clementine. Best you go home before it gets too dark."

Clementine stood, his tiny hands balled into fists. "No, you haven't answered my question. All you've done is give me a history lesson."

"I have given you the knowledge to answer that question for yourself. If you want to know why the present is how it is, then you must study the past. Things have a tendency to repeat themselves. Simply put, I don't know why things are the way they are. It is what it is. And for the most part people are content to leave it that way."

"No, you're wrong. Nothing happens for no reason. Someone is making things the way they are."

Spool leaned back in the chair, "Life isn't a play, Clementine. Things don't always have a purpose or a lesson though some philosophers would tell you otherwise."

Seeing Spool so weary melted the tension from Clementine's bones. "I'm sorry, this is why I didn't want to ask."

"No, it's my fault for pushing. You're not wrong in thinking this way. Many others share similar thoughts."

"Then how come I never hear of them?"

"It's because they hide within themselves, hoping to forget."

Spool glanced up, his attention drawn by a growing number of voices. Some kind of commotion started a racket backstage. The murmuring came to a peak when Merri appeared at the edge of the stage, panic twisting her face. Her frantic eyes pierced straight through Clementine.

"What is it?" asked Spool as he jumped to his feet.

Merri managed to tear her gaze away from Clementine. "You have to see this. Now."

After a moment's frightful confusion, they ascended from the pit and followed Merri out the back to where a crowd of performers had gathered. One and all staring out into the distance. Clementine followed their gaze over and beyond the roofs of Refuge where a great light burned. A fire so enflamed its light reached them even this far out. There was no warmth found in its touch. Only a chill that turned Clementine's blood into ice. That dark pit that had formed in his gut splintered and grew tendrils that wormed its way through him.

Voices from behind sounded far distant. A hand on his shoulder recoiled as if it too felt that cold. Clementine ran, ignoring the shouts chasing after him. In his chilled mind burned a thought that thawed his limbs lose, allowing him to run.

 _A fire, the Mud District is on fire._

* * *

The heat baked his flesh, making his sweat like icicles slithering down his skin. The fire consumed the night in an orange glow. The air was hard to breathe even for the Craft District, but not because of smoke, but because of Clementine's exhaustion. He had sprinted nonstop from the recesses of the Flower District straight to the Buffer. Still, the fire blazed.

Clementine shoved past guards just standing there doing nothing but watching. He had not taken his typical route up onto the warehouse roofs. There was no time for it. He slipped past one shadowed guard, which made a grab at him. The guardsman caught him by the wrist and yanked him back so hard it almost pulled Clementine's arm right out of its socket. Clementine kicked about, but he could not wrench his arm free. He was dragged across the pavement like a doll, eventually being thrown hard against a wall. His head whip-lashed, jaw shutting tight on his tongue. A swell of blood filled his mouth as he landed on the ground. A high pitched white noise filled Clementine's skull. His first attempt to get up was met with a kick to his ribs. The second time a boot was brought down on his calf. There was no third attempt to rise but the assault continued anyways.

* * *

He had him, the little strawberry haired thief. Tried to slip right past him, but no he was too quick for him. Yes, to quick and clever. Justice at long last for the many insults inflicted onto him by this brat. The incident the other day left Guardsman Webb with more than just embarrassment, but a demotion as well. Stuck on patrol duty at the Buffer of all places. How Webb writhed in his bed that night, unable to sleep. Now look what he caught. Luck was smiling down on him this night.

The boy struggled against him, but he was nothing compared to Webb's black rage. Funny enough, the boy didn't try to fight him. He only wished to rush to his home. How fitting then that this humble City Guardsman was here to stop him from entering that inferno. The fat man laughed when he threw the boy against the warehouse wall. He had dragged him away enough as to not be bothered by any of the other guard. The thunk of the boy's head as it snapped against the wall was the most satisfying noise the Guardsman ever heard. He kicked him to keep the boy down.

"Relax kid, I'm saving your life…probably."

The boy tried to rise again so the guardsman stomped on his leg, bone snapped beneath his boot. The boy didn't scream, which was disappointing. He instead started to crawl towards the burning district. Enraged, the guardsman attacked again and again. Kicking and stomping on him like he was some kind of insect. The boy instinctively curled up into a ball in an attempt to shield himself. One well-placed heel into the boy's temple broke that ball and the boy went limp.

Out of breath and wheezing for air Webb left the boy for dead. Outside the secluded alley, he leaned his ample weight against the warehouse and watched the Mud District burn. This up close it was quite a sight to behold. A recruit came rushing up to him like a startled sheep.

"Sir, what should we do?"

" _Do_ , you say? Nothing. We do nothing. Just keep the fire from spreading into here."

"But what about the people in there?"

"Let the place burn to ashes. Save us the trouble."

The Recruit just stood there at attention, dumbstruck. "What did I just say?" growled the senior guardsman, "Go see to it that it doesn't spread and if you decide to help those in the Mud District, then do us all a favor and stay there." The Recruit's jaw clenched and he took off without saying another word. When he was gone the Guardsman turned his attention back onto the flames.

"Burn…let it all burn."

* * *

Back in the alley Clementine writhed in pain, but even that faded to the wet cold that took over like a sickness. Blood pooled into his left eye, staining his vision red. He blinked, but when he opened his eye the world had darkened. From the alley mouth a figure approached. Hunched over, the stranger scooped him up with wiry muscled arms and carried him away. Smoke filled the sky bigger than any cloud. Ashes rained down along with smoldering embers. The cold ushered him into blackness where dark thoughts roamed free.


	2. Chapter 1

Clementine hesitated upon hearing the shouts. Not far, just a few blocks down. He turned to head in the opposite direction. He only made it two steps before there came another shout, this one the high-pitched yelp of a toddler. Sighing, Clementine tucked the stack of books underneath his arm and reversed directions once again. He was not alone either. Others came, drawn by the noise. They emerged from their homes bug-eyed and bedraggled. The sun had only just peeked the horizon minutes ago. Clementine was one of the first to arrive on the scene.

Three Mudslingers stood outside Greenberg's school. Greenberg himself was on the school porch with a class of children behind him including one older boy maybe two years Clementine's junior. A former classmate perhaps. Hard to tell with his face swollen and purple the way it was.

One of the Mudslingers hefted a wooden club over his shoulder. "I'm not gonna ask again. Give me the books or I'll take them myself."

"They don't belong to you," said Greenberg, "they belong to the children."

"Not after last night." The Mudslinger pointed his club at the kid with the battered face. "Little Alfie here lost them in a game with us."

"They weren't his to gamble away."

"Not my problem. What's done is done. Now I'm here to collect. One way or another I will have those books. Don't make me have to hurt you, old man."

Greenberg stiffened, "They need those books to help them learn. Are you really so cruel that you'll deny them any form of education just because you couldn't wrap your head around the idea in the first place?"

The Mudslinger grew red but before he could act one of his companions advanced, club swinging. It struck Greenberg's upraised arm and with a cry of pain he fell backwards. The children behind him scattered like startled rabbits. Except for Alfie who ran inside. A few seconds later he reappeared with the books in question. The Mudslinger who attacked Greenberg tore them from Alfie's grasp and tossed them to his stout but muscular companion.

A small crowd had gathered around, but no one did anything. They just watched, same as Clementine. He knew it was too much to expect anyone to do anything. Still, he held out hope for someone to step up, anyone. Alfie kneeled over Greenberg, helping his teacher to rise. The alpha male of the pack having skimmed through the books tossed to him, then turned to leave. However, the Mudslinger who struck Greenberg raised his club threatening to strike again.

A voice shouted out, "Enough!"

Everyone swiveled round, eyes locking on him. Only then did Clementine realize he had spoken aloud. The Mudslinger with the school books turned towards Clementine. A smile broke out on his flat face. Clementine recognized the sneer. The sight of it was enough to dreg up some memories from a lifetime ago. Like loyal dogs the two other thugs reined in behind their pack leader.

"Well isn't this a welcome surprise. Augustus Clementine. Where have you been hiding?"

Clementine cocked his head, "Sorry, do I know you?" The Mudslinger staggered as if shoved by a forceful wind. Clementine hid his smirk. "You do look slightly familiar. What's your name again? Gaz? Spaz?"

"Its Naz!" he spat.

"Sounds about right." Chuckled Clementine.

Shoving the school books in the arms of his goons, Naz stalked towards Clementine until they were an arm's width apart. "What do you want, pretty boy?"

Clementine placed a hand over his heart, "You flatter me. What I want is for you to give Greenberg back the books and leave them alone."

"Books belong to us now. If you're that raw about it take it up with Alfie. He's the one who lost them in the first place."

"What do you lot want with the books anyway? Can you even read?"

The smile on Naz's face turned crooked. "Who knows? Maybe we'll use them as kindling for a fire. Or maybe we'll use the pages to wipe our own-"

Clementine's hand snapped out like lunging snake. It slapped against Naz's throat. The bully stumbled back, dropping his club. Before they had a chance to even register what was happening Clementine advanced on the other two Mudslingers. He struck the first one in the armpit, forcing him to drop the school books. Clementine pivoted to counter the second thug's wild punch, guiding it away from his body before following through with a palm thrust to the man's chest. The blow forced the man back several steps.

In a matter of seconds, he had sent all three Mudslingers reeling. Clementine took a step forward ready to continue his assault, but he stopped himself. That pause was all the time Naz needed to recover. Reclaiming his club, Naz struck Clementine in the shoulder. Clementine dropped to the ground, his own stack of books and folders scattering in the mud. By then the two other mudslingers regained their feet and began kicking him. Each blow dealt was like a shockwave. In rapid succession they made his body tremble. Clementine sealed his eyes shut and waited for them to get bored.

Just when it seemed like the Mudslingers would never tire of kicking the shit out of Clementine someone else joined in the fray. The newcomer was met with gasps and shouts of frustration from the Mudslingers. Clementine raised his head. Naz scrambled in the mud collecting the scattered books while his two friends were beaten back. Their attacker pressed forward. Her flurry of kicks sweeping arcs through the air. Gathering up one last book, Naz turned and ran down the street followed by the other two Mudslingers.

"Damned outsiders!" shouted Naz as he fled.

Their attacker, a young woman in her early twenties gave chase after them. Her sleek panther tail and curly black hair trailing behind her.

"Kiera!" shouted a new voice pulling up behind Clementine.

The faunus girl slid to a stop, laughing as the three Mudslingers retreated out of sight.

A shadow came over Clementine followed by a helping hand. "You alright?"

Clementine reluctantly accepted it, "I didn't ask for your help."

The young man known only by the strange name of Buckets, heaved Clementine to his feet with relative ease. "Did we need it?"

"Does the hero wait for the Princesses' invitation before rescuing her from the castle?" asked Kiera with a snide grin.

"Is that what you are?" asked Clementine, "A hero?"

She brushed her hands together, slapping off the mud. "No, but you are a princess."

Clementine scoffed and knelt to retrieve his things. When Buckets moved to help, Clementine shooed him away. "Go see to Mr. Greenberg."

Nodding, Buckets made his way to where the rest of the small crowd had gathered around Greenberg's porch.

Kiera stood over Clementine, her arms crossed. "What was all that about anyway?"

"You don't know?"

"We only just got here. You think I would've let it get that far before stepping in?"

"Somehow I'm not surprised. You have no idea the context of the situation, yet you jump in swinging."

Overhearing her question, Alfie stepped down from the porch. "It's my fault. All mine."

"Alfie?" Kiera squinted at the kid's face. "Jeez…What happened to you?"

"I went by the Mudslingers' place last night."

"Why in the world would you do that?"

Alfie flinched and shied away, "I thought I could win. I _was_ winning. But I ran out of stuff to bid. So, I bet the school books to up the ante. But after that the guy I was facing started doing really good."

Kiera dragged a hand down her face in disappointment. "You were hustled."

"I know that now!"

"Should've known beforehand." Said Clementine, "Mudslingers lie, cheat, and steal. That's how they win. You never should've gone there."

"I'll go tonight and win it all back."

"With what?" snapped Clementine, "you have nothing left to gamble with. It's over."

"There's more." whispered Alfie, "There is always more to give."

"What? Are you going to bet your soul?" Picking up his last fallen folder, Clementine stood. "I'm done here. Never should've gotten involved in the first place."

Kiera called out after him, "Where you going?"

"Home." Said Clementine without turning around.

* * *

Kiera watched Clementine storm off before heading towards the school porch. The rest of the gathered crowd dispersed as well, their morning of excitement over. The frightened children had returned and were swarming Buckets and Greenberg.

"How you doing, Professor? Sorry I'm late."

Greenberg groaned, "I told you not to call me that."

Buckets finished tying off the sling that held the teacher's arm, "Its broken. Though not too badly by the look of it."

"Aren't you going to ask me how my pain is on a scale from one to ten?"

Buckets' laugh was lighthearted, "No need. Its written all over your face."

Kiera nudged Buckets leg, "Hey, think you can hold down the fort here?"

"Isn't that your job? Where are you going?"

Without answering him Kiera turned to Alfie, "Don't you go back there tonight or ever again."

"But the books-"

"I'll get them." Her confident smile won her peculiar looks from all present. "This time tomorrow everything will be as it should."

* * *

Their voices carried through the cavern like echoes in his fractured mind. They walked in a straight line with him, the runt of the litter, in the middle. The sticky ground tugged at his boots the same way his mother's voice in the lead tugged him forward. The line came to an abrupt halt. Sudden stillness gripped his heart. From down the cavern came a sound like an ocean of pebbles folding over each other. It was getting closer.

Something cold jarred him awake. His startled panic practically destroyed the mud pen he had been sleeping in. It was a stable once, but years of no use left it nothing but a few wooden fences and empty troughs. He looked about with bloodshot eyes before spotting the girl standing but a few feet from him holding an empty pitcher.

"Good morning, Runt. Sleep well?"

Runt rubbed at his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Far past time to get up."

He pinched at his damp clothes, "I'm wet."

"It rained last night."

Runt looked at her, then the still dripping pitcher, and said nothing. He hadn't the strength or time to argue with Kiera. He was already late as is.

"Don't bother." Said Kiera, as if reading his thoughts. "You're already fired."

Runt froze, "What?"

"Mr. Flood hired some of Greenberg's alumni to fix up his store. It'll take them longer and it won't be as good of a job, but they're shelves. Don't need to look pretty. Besides, it keeps them out of trouble. Had enough of that already."

Runt plopped back down in the mud. "I guess I can go back to sleep then."

"Not just yet." Said Kiera, "I have another job for you. Your old one."

 _Not again, please._ Runt rubbed at his face. "I'm sorry, but no."

"The Mudslingers are out of control. Gambling, stealing, and now beatings in the middle of the street…In broad daylight."

"And?"

His indifferent question made her angry, "And don't you think we should do something about it?"

"What would you have me do? Beat every punk I see into submission?"

"Something like that, yeah. Things aren't how they used to be."

Runt lurched to his feet, "What makes you think you know how things _used_ to be?"

Kiera leaned against a stable fence, "Your right, I don't know how things worked back then. But I've heard stories. And I've been around long enough to know that things have gotten worse. The Mudslingers, the group that you started now follow Sned."

"Sned?" Runt struggled to recall the name, "That duplicitous shit? He doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone, why would they follow him?"

"They've been following him for the past several years. Wake the fuck up!" her outburst knocked him back down, "With you gone he stepped up. Like a vulture come to pick through the scraps. He's the only one to have a solid connection outside the city. Sned gets food and supplies. Toys for kids, you name it. He lures them in with what he can provide and from there he appeals to their nature. Let's them do as they please without any consequences."

Runt sat in the mud absorbing all she said like a sponge. There was silence for a while. Kiera's pale brown eyes didn't leave him for a second. He was like a child before her. An overgrown giant of a child and she his den mother. When it was clear Runt would make no reply, Kiera spoke up.

"The one they tried beating this morning was Augustus Clementine."

That name…a hammer to his chest. Drove the air straight out of his lungs. "Tried?"

"I stopped them of course. But not after Clementine fought them." She paused as if puzzled with something, "He was fast. Had them staggering, but then he just…stopped. It's like he remembered he shouldn't be able to fight. I don't know. He plays things close to his chest. I'm worried. Clementine is up to something. He's _been_ up to something for the past six years. You know, up until recently I thought we were the only ones to unlock our aura here. I'm starting to have doubts."

"You're saying he did?"

"What I'm saying is this: Runt, you're my friend, but if you don't put yourself back together then people are going to start dying. The Buffer is increasing in size, squeezing us in. I know you know this. Sooner or later, when our backs are to the Spine, there will be nowhere to cram your head in the mud and hide."

Kiera turned to leave, waving the pitcher goodbye as she went. "Oh, and I talked with the inn keep. You're cut off. See ya."

Runt rubbed at his groggy face. He had hoped to wash Kiera's words down with a morning ale or several, but if what she said was true then that wouldn't be possible. So, he fell back into the mud with a splat.

* * *

The Mudslingers had taken up residence near the center of the district. It's there that their influence was best felt. Like tendrils reaching out. The building they claimed as their base of operations looked like what might have been a town hall some time ago. It was larger than most buildings in the Mud District and the only one to be partially made out of stone. That alone set it apart from the rest like a status symbol. Four stories tall, five if one were to count the tip of the building were resided an ancient cracked bell.

Perched on a nearby rooftop, Kiera watched the comings and goings of the Mudslingers. With the sun going down the gang was preparing themselves for another night of games. She knew that's when most of them would be gathered. Better to get them all in one fell swoop.

Moments from leaping off the inn there came a scuffle from behind her. Kiera whirled, pouncing on whoever snuck up on her. She pinned his shoulders to the ground and raised her other hand poised to strike at his face. The young man beneath her had a thin beard and shaggy dark hair that possessed a reddish tinge to it. Buckets grinned up at her.

"Thought I told you to stay with Greenberg?" she growled.

"He's fine. Mr. and Mrs. Flood are caring for him right now and I made sure all the children went straight home. Did you think I was going to let you walk in there by yourself?"

Kiera pressed down on him so that their lips were almost touching. "Going to talk me out of it?"

"On the contrary, I'm here to help."

She pulled back, the playfulness gone. "Sorry, but you'll just get in my way."

"There's too many. You can't fight them all."

Pushing off his chest, Kiera stood. "I'll take my chances."

Buckets sat up on his elbows, "Okay, say your plan works. You beat them all up, take back Greenberg's books and walk away triumphant. You're just giving them an excuse. You show them violence then they will respond in kind."

"What are you saying I do then? They beat Alfie. Attacked Greenberg. Broke his arm. Stole books from children. And that was just this morning. You're telling me I should just let it go?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all." Buckets stood, brushing himself off. "I recommend a different course of action. We beat them at their own game."

"You mean gamble?"

"Exactly."

"That's how this all started in the first place!"

"Yeah, but this time we'll win."

His confidence gave her pause, "I'm not risking it. What even makes you think the outcome will be any different?"

"Despite what you might think, the Mudslingers aren't all mindless brutes. They're just lost looking for a purpose in life just like anyone else. They found power through violence. Enough to fill that gap in their lives. I can't fault them for that…If we want this violence to end then we need to get through to them and the first step towards that is earning their respect."

Kiera stared out over the rooftops overlooking the Mud District. "They respect strength. If I beat the living shit out of Sned what makes you think they won't follow me?"

"Because to them you're still an outside. We both are."

Kiera turned to face him but the words died in her throat. She knew he was right, but just didn't want to admit it. Worse part is, he knew that too. Kiera groaned in frustration. "We don't even have anything to gamble with."

In response, Buckets withdrew a bundled stack of notes. They were slightly crinkled and faded as if they hadn't seen the sun in years. The L-shaped symbol marked on their fronts was that of the Lien currency. Kiera gaped at the amount.

"Where did you get that?"

"I've had it since…Well," he gestured around them, "before all this. Kept it in case of a rainy day."

"You've been carrying around that much money in your pocket for six years?"

A wry smile creased his face, "Shall we? It's getting dark. Mudslingers are open for business." Without waiting for a response, Buckets climbed down the side of the building and began striding towards the old town hall. Sporting her own amused smile, Kiera followed suit.

The pair guarding the entrance sat on the stone steps, bouncing a rubber ball back and forth. They each wielded their own wooden clubs fashioned from pieces of broken buildings. There were plenty of those in the Mud District. Kiera recognized them both from this morning. The surprisingly even tempered Leff and his hotheaded best friend Jules, the one who broke Greenberg's arm. Seeing their approach, Jules stepped forward to block the way. His face was bruised where she had kicked him earlier.

"What do you two want?" asked the Mudslinger, readying his club.

"Easy," Buckets held up the money for all to see, "We just want the chance to win back what you 'procured' this morning."

Two grand doors once barricaded the entranceway. One now leaned against the wall, broken off its hinges, while the other was missing entirely. This left the entranceway open. From inside, Naz stepped out into the moonlight. His beady eyes regarded them both with open hostility.

He waved a dismissive hand at Buckets, "You? Sure. But the faunus bitch stays out here."

Baring her teeth, Kiera moved forward but Buckets held out a staying hand. "There's no need for violence here, but I don't go in without her."

"What is she your bodyguard?" Naz spat at Buckets feet, "Forget it. Get lost, both of you. While you still can."

"Want a repeat of this morning?" threatened Kiera.

Naz grumbled a laugh, "Can you fight us and protect your boyfriend at the same time?"

"Like I said, there's no need for violence." Buckets backed away slowly, his arms raised over his head. "We're going. Kiera, come on."

Kiera stood still, a pillar in the mud. She glared at Naz who reflected her own disgust and hate right back at her. Like a mirror. _Just walk away Buckets. You tried and you failed, but at least you tried. Leave me to these meatheads. Please. I'll make sure the Mudslingers won't have a leg left to stand on._

Behind her Buckets whispered, "Kiera…don't."

"Now wait just a second!" The voice came from inside the town hall. Sned strutted out into view. The man himself. Leader of the Mudslingers, cloaked in a fancy plaid bathrobe. He inspected his two guests with little interest before he spotted the money. His smile was like something roughly carved out of cardboard. "Now Naz, no need to be rude. All are welcome here. Come in, come in."

Muttering under his breath, Naz lowered his club. The tension eased like a deflating tire. After sharing a brief glance between them, Kiera and Buckets followed Sned inside. A host of candles lit the town hall in an orange glow that brought out the red hue in Buckets' hair. The burning wax was everywhere. Kiera almost knocked one over with her swinging panther tail.

"Watch yourself." Cautioned Sned, "Don't wanna catch that pretty thing on fire." The Mudslinger leader was easier on the eyes than Naz, but there was something even more off-putting in that almost kind face. A mask of halfhearted charm and dry charisma.

Moonlight spilled in from the entrance to the bell tower high above. Its pillar of white light shone on the dais podium on the other end of the town hall. Kiera imagined that at one point elected officials of the District spoke to their citizens from behind that podium. Long ago, maybe. But now it was nothing more than Sned's seat of power.

Mudslingers lounged about all over. Some even hanging out up on the ceiling rafters. There were more than Kiera initially thought. At least fifty. With the sole exception of their leader, the Mudslingers were comprised of the young. Teenagers mostly. Some younger. A few in their early twenties like her and Buckets. It pained Kiera to see former students of Greenberg's amongst the faces. Children were easy to recruit. Their young minds like clay, easily molded. Easily swayed. The promise of comfort and power was an alluring prospect for anyone. Even more so for disenfranchised children.

Still, they acted like children. Many were giggling amongst themselves or playing games provided for them through Sned's connections. The whole scene better suited a playground than a criminal base. Their smiles vanished when they saw her. _That's right kids. Here I am, your harsh reminder of reality. Look upon me now and shiver. Because one day soon, you too will have to grow up._

Such sour thoughts left Kiera bitter. Buckets and Sned took seats at a table opposite of each other. At their respective sides stood herself and Naz. The role of bodyguard fitted them both in this situation. Sned drummed his knuckles on the wooden surface of the table.

"So, what would you like to play?"

Buckets didn't even seem to hear the question. He was too distracted lost in all those hostile stares regarding them. Sned waved a hand and all at once the Mudslingers resumed whatever it was they were doing before they walked in. Shaking himself, Buckets turned to face Sned.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"You're my guest," said Sned, "what game would you like to play? Usually I can suggest a game that best fits the player, but I find myself at a loss." Sned dragged his tongue across his front teeth. "How long have you two been here now?"

"Six years." Answered Kiera.

Buckets nodded, "Ever since the fire."

Sned smiled and wagged a finger between Buckets and Kiera. "You two know each other before that night?"

"Nope."

"Well…at least something good came out of it I suppose."

Upon hearing that comment Naz stormed off. His sudden flight caught Buckets' attention. He wasn't alone in taking notice. Kiera realized it as well. The majority of the Mudslingers were some of those who lost the most in the fire. It was a long moment before Buckets brought his attention back on the Mudslinger leader.

"Why do you ask? About us, I mean."

Sned's shrug was careless, "Curious is all. You two have called the Mud District home for the past six years and yet I don't know a single thing about you. Besides the faunus' feisty nature. Her desire to stick her tail where it doesn't belong."

Buckets smiled through the veiled warning, "Well we never really talked before. Have we?"

"The fault is mine. Now tell me, what game would you like to play?"

Spotting a pair of six-sided dice on the table, Buckets leaned over and plucked them up. "I prefer chance. Weighing outcomes and betting on them. I have no interest in complicated mechanics and considering the looks we're getting, we're not welcome here long either. So, why don't you roll the dice. As they bounce I guess the outcome. If I guess correctly three times in a row then you let us leave with all the books Naz here took this morning."

"And if you guess wrong?"

Buckets pushed the bundle of Lien forward on the table. "Then it's all yours."

Sned's grin broadened, "Deal."

Kiera leaned close to Buckets' ear. "What are you doing? That's worth ten times as much." she hissed.

"Trust me?"

"The roll will be completely random."

"Trust me?" he repeated.

Kiera sighed, "You better know what you're doing."

Obviously pleased by their small squabble, Sned asked, "Are we ready to begin?"

"Whenever you are." Answered Buckets.

Sned held the dice in-between his fingers. With flare, he tossed them across the table. They bounced once then twice.

"Three and two." predicted Buckets.

The dice bounced another two times before coming to a stop with one die landing on three and the other on two. Sned stared a moment before chuckling.

"A lucky guess."

Buckets nodded in agreement, "Again?"

"Again." Sned swept up the dice and after an elongated shaking in his hand he spilled them out once more. This time they only bounced once before Buckets called it.

"Five and a one."

The dice bounced and rolled across the table. When they came to a stop the whole town hall went quiet. All the Mudslingers who were pretending not to pay attention were now fully immersed. Sned stared. He smiled but the effort strained his face. Neither player said a word as Sned retrieved the dice. Buckets watched his hand move back and forth, jostling the small wooden cubes. His eyes were focused and his face blank.

Again, the dice flew out. They bounced once, twice, three times. The sound of them hitting the table echoed throughout the town hall.

"Four and a three. Bringing it to a total of seven."

The dice rolled some more before coming to a stop. Kiera had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. Sned stared at the dice, his smile twitching. Having watched from afar, Naz returned to Sned's side with the books tucked underneath his arm.

"How did you do that?"

Buckets shrugged, "Luck I suppose."

Dumbstruck, Naz set down the books. When Buckets reached out to grab them Sned caught his wrist.

"Wait," he said, "You're gonna stay and give us a chance to win it back."

Buckets offered up an apologetic smile, "Sorry, but you no longer have anything left that interests me."

When Sned didn't release his grip, Kiera clenched her hands into fists. "Is there a problem?"

Sned eyed her, his face taut with rage. The surrounding Mudslingers rose to their feet but moved no further. Kiera noticed that a good portion of them looked to Naz for guidance. Their conflicted feelings were plain to see. Naz made no move to reach for his club, which was slung over his shoulder. Kiera suspected that his hesitation, if it was that, was all that prevented the rest of the Mudslingers from attacking. Amongst the crowd there were a handful of older boys who flocked towards Sned's side. Their intentions were not so conflicted. Kiera recognized them. Sned's loyalist. His own personal honor guard comprised of the worst the Mud District had to offer.

After a long glare at Naz, Sned released his grip. "Of course. Be on your way then."

"Gladly." Kiera helped Buckets gather up their winnings. The Mudslingers watched them as they went. Kiera spared them one last look before leaving the candlelit town hall. They weren't smiling nor glaring. There was something new in their faces and Kiera didn't recognize it. They walked in silence past the stone steps and down the street. When they turned the first corner, out of sight of the town hall, Kiera spoke.

"What did you just do?" she asked, exasperated as if she had held her breath on the way out.

Buckets glanced at her with a small smile. "I think, I just made some progress."

* * *

The roof leaked droplets of leftover rainwater onto the plant's leaves. Clementine knelt before the withered plant and watched it die. The stem had shriveled to half its size in the past week alone. A thing once blossoming with life, now dead. A small tragedy in the grand scheme of things. Still, the tears trickled down his cheeks. A rage burgeoned within him and he flung the now dead plant with a hiss. The pottery shattered on impact and the remains of the plant flopped to the floor.

He stood there seething for an unknown amount of time when there came a knock at his door. Clementine dragged a hand down over his face, feeling the heavy bags beneath his eyes. With a sigh he called out, "Come in."

The front door creaked open and not long after that Kiera stepped into the room. "How you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

"That was quite the beating you took this morning though."

Clementine knew what she was hinting at and didn't like it. "Why are you here, Kiera?"

"I have something for you." She held up a book in her hand. Its old weathered cover was instantly recognizable. "Found it mixed in with Greenberg's books. Figured Naz accidentally took it in the confusion."

Clementine squinted her, "How did you get them back?"

"I didn't. It was all Buckets. He gambled against Sned and won. Did more damage than I could ever manage with my fists alone."

Clementine moved away without taking the book. "You sound amused."

"You should've seen it. The look on Sned's face when Buckets beat him. Priceless."

"He won't let that slide."

She shook her head, "They won't. He beat them at their own game. I think…I think they respect him for that. Just like he said they would."

"Maybe they do now, the Mudslingers I mean. But not Sned. By the sound of it you humiliated him. Wound his pride and he will strike back."

Kiera chewed on his words before replying, "I think you're being a little overdramatic."

"Maybe, maybe not. Just be careful."

She nodded and slapped the book onto her palm, "You want this or not?"

"Just leave it on the kitchen table on your way out."

Kiera skimmed through the crisp yellow pages, "You enjoy these?"

"For a time."

"Never figured you the type to pay fairy tales any mind." Her eyes searched his living room, glossing over the packed bookshelf where Clementine kept the majority of his collection. She was slow to read the titles inscribed on the book spines. " _The History of the Four Kingdoms_ … _The Great War_... _Myth of the Grimm_ … _The Properties of Dust_. You do a lot of reading, huh?"

"Do you?"

"I prefer pictures."

"I'm sure you do."

She smiled at his lazy mockery, "You know, ever since arriving here Buckets has made friends with just about everyone. I don't even think he intends it. People just like him what with his infectious smile and eerie optimism. While he befriends all the nice people in the Mud District I look out for the rest. The troublemakers."

"Am I one such troublemaker?"

"I don't know what you are."

He raised his hands, "Look and see for yourself."

"Once you may have been that easy to read, but not anymore. You want to know what I see? You're drifting Clementine. Farther and farther away you go and I don't even know where. You hide things from everyone, I know I'm no special case in this."

Her words sent him pacing around the living room. "What do I hide, huh? Tell me."

"For one, I know you sneak into the city every night. I know you can fight. I saw you. I know for some reason you don't want people to know you can fight. After what Naz did to you this morning you shouldn't be able to walk and yet here you are. Without a scratch. So I know you unlocked your aura. How else would you be able to protect yourself?"

Clementine's right leg throbbed, an echo of a pain long gone. "Maybe I'm just more used to beatings than you think."

Kiera took a deep breath, restraining herself. Clementine knew she probably wanted to throttle him right about now. That's how she handles troublemakers. Despite her attempts to hold back there was always that instinct towards violence that usually got the better of her. It was only Buckets' disarming presence that kept the Mudslingers safe. To his surprise, Kiera composed herself. Her eyes moved behind him where they caught on something.

"What happened to your plant?"

The question punched Clementine right in the gut. He turned to hide his pain. "My sister used to collect them. Among her many jobs she worked in Old Gran's garden. She brought extra seeds home to grow herself. Can you imagine? Hard enough to get things growing in the garden as is. Her plants used to cover every windowsill in the house. Under her care, they lived full lives. I've tried, but they just keep dying on me."

Kiera moved up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You need to let someone in, Clementine. It doesn't have to be me, just someone. Before you drift so far you no longer recognize yourself in the mirror."

"Please go."

She squeezed his shoulder before turning to leave. The front door shut behind her. Clementine knelt by the wall where the dead plant laid. He scooped it up, cradling the dead thing in his palms. On his way out he stopped by the kitchen table where Kiera left the old fairy tale book. The illustrated cover was faded beyond all recognition. That mystery still called out to him like a song. Clementine forced himself to move past the book.

It was far later in the night than he had expected. Outside, the street was empty. Only the glimmer of light from a few neighboring windows remained. The district slept. There was no better time to wander. Clementine stepped out into ankle deep mud. He trudged through the dark, not needing light to guide his way. The path had become seared into his mind over the years. In his hands, he carried the plant as one might hold a child. As he got closer to his destination the ramshackle streets of the Mud District blackened into charcoal husks. The fire claimed a large chunk of the Mud District, five blocks wide and three deep. Splintered skeletons of buildings were all that remained of a once popular part of the district. In its core were the graves. Buried right in the middle of the street. Twenty tombstones carved out of wood.

Clementine stopped in front of his sister's grave. He rested the dead plant up against the tombstone where so many other plant carcasses remained.

"I couldn't get this one to live any longer than the others. I'm not getting any better at it I think, but I'll keep trying. I remember you struggled with them at first-or at least I think I remember." A despondent chuckle leapt from his throat, "I don't know anymore. Memory is a funny thing, isn't it? Each time I remember something from those days it's a little different. Like I'm painting on new layers. Ones I prefer. Eventually they'll get so distorted they stop becoming a memory and just an imagination."

Clementine turned away, unable to face the tombstone anymore. Tears filled his eyes. "Farewell for now, Risa."

He left the marred graveyard, but not in the direction he came. No, he went north. Deeper into the Mud District. The Spine loomed higher with every passing step. There was an ample amount of space in the Mud District for the three hundred or so people who called it home. However, more than half of the district had become unlivable. The closer one got to the Spine's cliff face the more unstable the ground became. Sinkholes churned like great maws steadily shredding buildings into pieces. It got worse with every day. Nobody risked travelling such parts much less live there.

The mud pulled at Clementine's bare feet as if trying to swallow him. Had he been a sickly boy he might've gotten stuck. Many wandering critters often get snared here. On bad days they would be dinner to those who first came across them. The tops of buildings protruded out of the mud like grasping hands outstretched. Clementine heaved himself over and through the window of a half sunken home.

The ceiling was mostly gone, torn away by the wild forces of nature. Inside, Clementine had only the light of the stars. Its bleak glow cast the half buried home in tones of gray. All that was left in this place were a few broken chairs and a table. Whatever else there was had been picked away by looters long before Clementine arrived. But now this was his place, his secret. One of many. He unlaced and tore away the tarp that shielded his things from the weather. It wasn't much, just a simple map of the city covered in markings and pinned with various papers and articles. Things he had spent years collecting and stealing. Gathering it all here, his modest hub of intelligence.

Clementine stood a moment, studying his collage of information when the building pitched in the mud ever so slightly. He spun around to find a giant climbing through the window.

"I didn't mean to startle you." The giant man swung his last leg inside and cautiously straightened to his full height. As tall as an Ursa. In the moonlight shadows danced across his muscled arms. He had dark skin bronzed by the sun and hyper blue eyes that glistened like two chipped icebergs.

"Why are you here?" hissed Clementine, " _How_? Without me even noticing…"

Runt moved past him and examined the table. "What is all this?"

"You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you. No one should. These parts shouldn't be disturbed. Another sinkhole can pop up any time."

"I'm not afraid." Said Clementine.

Runt regarded him with a brittle smile. "No, I suppose you're not."

"Did Kiera ask you to follow me?"

"No. I saw you at the graves and thought you looked troubled."

"What do you care? We're not friends in any sense of the word."

"Right, we never had an opportunity to get to know each other. My name is-"

Clementine stopped him with an upraised hand, "I know who you are."

"As I you." Runt tapped on the blueprint pinned to the table. "This is a map of the city. Administration, Flower, Trade, and Craft. All the districts but our own. And these markings…They're patrol patterns. Why do you have this?"

"I'm a thief." Explained Clementine, "It's good to know the ins and outs of the City Guard."

"But that's not all there is. Locations with descriptions written in…Are these music notes?" Runt's finger hovered over a red X where the Buffer was meant to be. The trepidation in his voice betrayed the anxiety he was trying so hard to hide. "What are you up to Clementine?"

"I think it best for you head back now, tell no one about this place, and leave me alone."

"I…I can't do that."

"Can't?" scoffed Clementine, "You never had a problem with not doing anything before. But now that it hinders me, you finally decide to find your spine?"

"You don't know the first thing about me." Rasped Runt.

"Oh, but I do. Even as a kid I knew what you were."

"You still are a kid."

"Is that what you truly see?" Clementine stepped forward so that they were inches apart. He looked up into the giant's breathtaking eyes and held that stare. "I stopped being a kid the day I got this." Clementine traced a finger down and around his left eye. The horseshoe-shaped scar that surrounded it was easiest to see in the moonlight. "A gift from a guardsman's boot."

"Is that what you're doing? Trying to get payback on the guard that beat you?"

Something less than a smile tugged on Clementine's lips. "I have something to show you." He unpinned several articles and slapped them down in front of Runt. "Check the dates."

Runt did as he was told. The light in the big man's eyes dwindled. "What are these?"

"Newspapers from the week of the fire." Said Clementine, "There is no mention of it in any of them. Why do you think that is? Our suffering, our loss means nothing to those outside this district. We are just an eyesore to them. Something to be cut or _burned_ away!" Clementine's voice grew cold. "My sister was one of many to die that night and they ignored the fact that it even happened. I cannot forget. I won't! Can you?"

Runt's mouth opened and closed but no words emerged. The giant was brought to the edge of tears. Clementine hadn't expected that vulnerability. It disturbed him to see the former leader of the Mudslingers dragged so low by just by a short exchange of words. Clementine shuddered at the rawness of the man's pain. He forced himself to briefly look away. When he came back around, Runt was gone. Vanished without so much as making a sound.

* * *

Runt rushed out into the night in full retreat. Fleeing from sorrow and the memories of fire. They pulled on him like chains shackled to his ankles. He'd never be rid of them. They'd always be right behind him, whispering in his ear. And now something new pursued him, Clementine's judgment. His cryptic map left him troubled, but not nearly as much as his violet eyes. There was more than a glint of a secret hidden away in them. One that promised disaster. The intensity of the stare, highlighted by his pale scar. It had shaken Runt…The man's rage. _Man? The boy is only sixteen years old. But he has the solemn of someone far beyond his years._

Clementine's face haunted Runt the whole trudge back into the main parts of the district. The boy had awakened something within him that had laid dormant for so long. It was slow to move again. The cobwebs resisted the stirring of emotions. Runt ambled along with no real destination in mind. He was drawn by the sound of snapping wood a few streets away. As he drew closer he could pick up the murmur of voices. He arrived upon the scene. Old Gran's garden fence was destroyed. Fragments of the wooden barrier were scattered across the mud. The rows of vegetation were picked clean and destroyed.

Only five remained by the time he arrived. Mudslingers. Their laughter dwindled to silence when they saw him.

"Runt…what are you doing out here? Figured you'd be passed out in some alley by now." The laughter resumed, but died as quickly as it started. Whatever they saw in Runt's face unsettled them.

"It's Naz, right?"

"Surprised you remember me."

"I never forget a face." Runt looked over all the others. "I haven't forgotten any of you. There was a time when you all called me by my last name, Braun."

"We followed you because we thought you had a plan for us. Those days are over. We've moved on. Sned's our leader now and he's not holding us back none. We could've taken this place over years ago if it weren't for you."

Runt regarded the ruined garden and recalled what he overhead Clementine say at the graves. "Is that what you're doing now? Taking over?" he laughed, "You're forgetting something, Naz. I never had a plan. Never hinted at one either. You've blinded yourselves to your own past. Convincing yourself with lies either self-fabricated or straight from Sned's mouth. You didn't follow me because I had any sort of plan. None of you did. You followed me because you knew, that I was strong and you weak."

The five them shuffled their feet and began murmuring amongst themselves. Naz's thick neck bulged like a pipe ready to pop. He hefted a wooden club in his hand and charged. The war cry that escaped his throat boomed across the street. Half bravery, half stupid. He leaped so that his exaggerated overhead swing could crack Runt on top of his skull. It never reached that far. Runt caught the club with his bare hand. With one arm he pulled it back and whipped it out again, sending Naz flying through the air. He skipped in the mud, coming to a stop at his companions' feet. Using both hands Runt snapped the club like a toothpick and tossed the pieces away.

The others didn't have time to react. In five easy strides Runt was already upon them. They were children to him. He tossed them about like dolls. It was over in seconds.


	3. Chapter 2

The Mud District buzzed awake like a swarm of startled bees. Naz crawled through the muck desperate to put distance between himself and the gathering of voices behind him. They crossed the line this time. Ransacking Old Gran's garden was a stupid idea. Naz knew as much. He warned Sned, but the bastard wouldn't listen. Now it was too late. Of all the people he thought they'd piss off, Naz never imagined Runt Braun would reenter the game. He had forgotten. They all had. Runt Braun led them while Sned cowered in his shadow. Now he was back and no one stood a chance against him.

Naz clawed and kicked his way into a narrow alley, his left arm dragging limp in the mud. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up to rest his back against the side of a building. He laid there, the numb fading and the pain settling into his bones. Blood oozed from his busted nose and trickled into his mouth. He had no clue how far he had gotten from Old Gran's, but it would have to do. The others he was with were gone. They either fled or were sent flying by Runt just like him. There was no way of knowing. It all happened so fast. Runt was upon them one second and in just a couple blinks Naz was tumbling through the air. Even now his vision blurred from the rapid succession of spins he'd undergone before crashing down more than a street away. Nausea gripped Naz and he turned to retch into the mud. The bitter bile had the iron taste of blood to it.

The mud squished with the sound of approaching footsteps. Naz leaned back, breathing heavily as the shadow of a man appeared in the alleyway. Naz squinted but couldn't make out the stranger's face.

"Who's there?"

The stranger approached with both arms held up to his sides. "Easy. It's me, Buckets."

"Come to finish me then?"

"What? No. Why would you think that?"

"I know you hate me. You all do. You…the panther girl…everyone. I recognize hate when I see it. Been looking at it all my life."

"Perhaps you should stop looking in the mirror then."

Naz started to laugh but the pain in his ribs turned it into a guttural groan. "You coward. Get your faunus friend then. She'd be more than happy."

"Her name is Kiera and no she wouldn't." he knelt beside Naz, "Your arm is dislocated. I need to pop it back into place."

"Thought it was broken."

"No one claimed you were smart."

"Come closer and I'll strangle you."

"Not with that arm." Buckets took hold of Naz's left shoulder and bicep. "Now on three. One-"

An instant of sudden jarring pain followed by a numbing ease. Naz swore and flailed his legs. Buckets helped keep his writhing to a minimum. When the initial wave of anguish passed Naz tried moving the arm. "It still hurts."

"You think the pain would just go away? No, I wouldn't use that arm for the next few days at the very least. Here," Using his own buttoned over shirt, Buckets tied a sling and draped it over Naz's neck before gently lifting his arm into the makeshift sleeve.

"You a doctor or something?"

Buckets smirked but shook his head, "Only since I came here. That's the second sling I made in the last twenty-four hours. You owe me a shirt."

Naz flexed his fingers by slowly closing them into a fist before releasing the tension. "No one was supposed to get hurt. Jules acted without thinking. He's always been over enthusiastic. Took a swing at Greenberg before I could stop him." When Buckets made no comment Naz grunted, "You don't believe me, do you?"

"No…I believe you."

His genuine words only angered Naz more. "Why are you helping me?"

Buckets eased himself down next to him, "This is all my fault. I didn't think Sned would respond so aggressively."

"You don't know him very well."

"True. But I had hoped there was something more to him. Something that could help him see past his own selfish desires."

"You're talking about honor."

"I suppose that's one word for it."

"You won't find any in Sned." Grunted Naz.

"That is apparent to me now." The voices gathering a few streets over grew more tumultuous. "Why did you destroy Old Gran's garden?"

Naz did his best to give a lopsided shrug, "Sned's orders. Figured if we take out the main supply of food for the district, then people would turn towards us for help. They'd have no choice but to depend on our supply."

"I just came from there. Word is you only ripped up the field and destroyed the fences. Runt stopped you before you could salt the ground or do any real permanent damage. The garden will need to be fixed, but that won't take long. Everyone will pitch in to make sure of it. That's what I like about the Mud District. It's a community. People here talk to each other. Help each other. Even you Mudslingers take care of your own and I admire that. The only real difference between you and the rest of the district is that you think you're different. You're not. The sooner you realize that the better."

Naz wiped a hand over his mouth. It came away smeared in dried blood. "Things are going to get ugly, aren't they?"

Buckets was long to respond. "I fear so. Things move slowly here. Not because of any fault or dimwittedness, but because the people here take the time to think things through. Once they reach a consensus though then they'll turn towards Sned like he wanted, but they won't come seeking his help."

"You should stay back...When the fighting starts. Let Kiera and Braun break us. They're more than enough I'm sure."

"Are you concerned for my wellbeing, Naz?" Buckets smiled. Naz hated how he could do that so effortlessly. Just grin as if they'd been pals since the cradle. It was like a sickness, a contagious one at that. Naz couldn't help but grin back.

"I just don't want a weakling like you getting in their way."

Buckets chuckled softly, "Don't worry, I won't. Things don't have to end in violence though."

"Are you really that stupid?"

"I prefer the term, optimistic."

"After tonight, there is no going back."

"That's not true. Bones heal. Fences can be mended. It's never too late."

"Sned won't stop." Grumbled Naz.

"Sned is just one man." Said Buckets, "No man can control the hearts of others. He's bought the Mudslinger's loyalty with gifts of toys and games and sweets. In return, their loyalty will be equally flimsy."

"It's like you said, we care for our own…For the most part, anyway. They won't go against their leader."

"Then perhaps it's time for a new leader. They follow Sned because he is their only option. Quite a few of them look up to you though, Naz. I saw it earlier. They would follow you and Sned knows it. Why do you think he made you attack Old Gran's? Sned is many things but he's not a complete idiot. He knows how much people respect her and all she's done for this district. He wanted to discredit you in their eyes by doing the unsavory deed."

Naz laughed and winced at the resulting pain. "Who the fuck are you, really? Don't like complex games you say? Yet here you are, playing the most dangerous one."

"Just because someone dislikes something doesn't mean they're not proficient at it."

Naz fought to get on his feet. When Buckets tried to help, he knocked him away. That shove alone almost toppled the Mudslinger. Buckets waited, ready to catch him if he fell. Naz recovered and stood, wobbling.

"Thank you." He muttered right before pushing his way past Buckets. The young man didn't protest. Naz left him there in the alley and didn't turn back.

* * *

It was daybreak by the time Naz hauled himself in. Few noticed him lingering near the entrance. But from Sned's heightened perspective perched on the podium he took quick note of Naz's presence. He was the last to arrive. The others had already returned, similarly beaten, and were the subject of discussion that filled the town hall. News of what happened spread quicker than Sned imagined. Every Mudslinger was present. They squabbled like children. All of them shouting, each trying to get their voice heard.

Sned let them stew in their incoherent bickering for a while. Did them good to let out all their frustrations. All their brains put together wouldn't be able to formulate even a half-baked plan. So, it was only natural for them to look to him for guidance. They were children in truth. Even the ones beyond those years never seemed to grow out of it. They were an army of meatheads and dim-wits. But they were his army, so they'd have to do. Sned held up his hand, pleased by how swiftly the hall went quiet.

"It's about time we admit to ourselves what this is all really about." He spoke softly so those in the back would strain to hear and move closer. Sned relished how they crowded around him. "We've waited for too long, my friends. This district is ours. It rests in the palm of our hand. All we have to do is seize it."

The crowd murmured amongst themselves before a voice spoke out. "But, we already have. We can take anything we want. Do whatever we want!"

"You raise a good point, but what is better? To steal whatever you wish? Or have it brought and placed at your feet? That's the difference between a crook and a king." Sned stood on top of his podium throne so all heads craned their necks to look up at him. "No more petty theft. No more sneaking about. Why hide our dominance over them? If we want something then they will give it to us or face our wrath."

Sned had them. He could see the look in their eyes, the gears cranking behind them. They are tools for his use. All Sned had to do was rev the engine to life. An unsettlement cut through the growing hysteria when a defeated Naz heaved himself onto the dais like a fat worm. All went silent in full view of the damage inflicted upon one of their betters.

Naz turned one beady eye on Sned, "What about Runt Braun and the panther? They will try and stop us at every turn."

More voices called out and just like that they were back to their squabbling. A fight even broke out. To be expected though. They weren't a wholly unified group to start with. Most were a part of Braun's old crew. They were only with Sned because the giant drank himself into a ditch of self-pity. With news of last night's fight spreading like a bad rash Sned knew that more than a few were rethinking their leadership. Sned fancied himself a strategist and was prepared for a moment like this. His ace up the sleeve was an arm's reach away, stashed inside the very podium he stood on.

The gunshot blasted a hole straight through the town hall's roof. From the Mudslingers came a collective gasp then hushed silence. Sned leveled the firearm in his hands. "Now this, my friends, is the key to dealing with Runt and his faunus bitch and anyone else who tries to stop us." He caressed the rifle, "This baby here fires dust-cartridge rounds capable of taking down a Death Stalker. If Runt stands in our way, he won't stand for long." With a gesture from him, two of Sned's most loyal men cracked open the lid of the cargo container that had been sitting behind him. Reaching inside, each took their own rifles, one in each hand and raised them up high for all to see.

A shiver coursed through them and Sned rode that wave higher. "Step up and claim your destiny. Why be thieves any longer when you can be kings?!" The crowd roared in agreement, their fists pumping in the air.

All it took was a few empty promises and a crate full of guns to win them over. They filed in, each and every one of them eager to claim the weapon that would change their lives. Naz watched the proceedings from off to the side. Any hope of overthrowing Sned was torn to shreds before his very eyes. As if it were any real hope. Just a few well sounding words from a fool unwilling to even throw a punch. He was a moron to believe even for a second. Sned had them now. Yet, this was wrong. Naz knew it. Power gifted is no real power at all. Something like that has to be worked for. One must earn it himself. Naz hobbled for the exit determined to leave this fanatic bunch behind when a hand caught his shoulder.

"You actually did well last night. Despite your failings." Sned wore his signature shit eating grin and bathrobe as if he were some pomp politician lounging in the highest rooms of the Citadel."

"Thanks…" grumbled Naz.

Sned cradled his gun as if it were his child. "You don't seem too optimistic about our new enterprise."

"I have my doubts."

"Speak, let them be heard." Naz noticed two of Sned's most loyal followers flanking him like bodyguards. _Already he acts like a king. But king of what? You haven't conquered anything._

"They will fight back." Said Naz.

"I'm sure they would if given the chance. I won't deny that Runt is a threat, but he is a simple one. One that our guns can handle. As for the faunus…well, I've hunted panthers and other animals in my day. All we need is a proper snare."

"What about the rest? This district is more than just those two."

"That's what I like about you Naz. You're not as dumb as you look." Sned took Naz by the face and playfully slapped his cheeks. "It's true, there is another I am concerned about. That's why I've come to you actually. I have a job for you."

* * *

The sun beat down relentlessly. Sweat soaked through Clementine's threadbare clothes and stung his eyes. He stepped back and wiped at his face before examining his work. The fence was a patch job, but it was sturdy enough to keep the vermin out. Whoever destroyed it in the first place left the thing practically in splinters. As luck would have it though there was no shortage of scrap wood in the Mud District.

The ravaging of Old Gran's garden left the people in a dazed state. It had been an unspoken rule here in the Mud District. Old Gran's was sanctuary. To openly defy that principle was reckless even for the Mudslingers. Living in such a district, people have grown a high tolerance. A tolerance exploited by the Mudslingers. They could do just about anything and get away with it. No one complained or sought retribution against them. No punishment followed their crimes because as far as the Mudslingers were concerned, they were the law and order in the Mud District. Was it stubbornness or cowardice that allowed such circumstances to linger? Clementine wasn't sure himself. But now it didn't matter. The Mudslingers have gone too far. What they did demanded a response. Clementine knew, things were going to get worse before they got better.

Despite the belligerent mood that so infected the district, the young man at Clementine's side bore a bright smile. Hammering the last nail home, Buckets kicked at the fence to test its durability. "It should hold. May need some refurbishing for the winter. Otherwise, I think we're good. Nice work." Clementine stared long enough for Buckets to notice. "What?" he asked, suddenly shy.

"Nothing, it's just…If I may ask, why are you smiling?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Usually. It's just that most people do."

"I guess I'm not most people then. I never stop to think about it really."

"Uh-huh," grunted Clementine before gesturing to the wrecked garden. "What about this makes you happy?"

Buckets leaned up against the newly built fence. He stared out at Kiera who was helping Old Gran replant. She was in her usual summer outfit. A sleeveless belly shirt and baggy trousers. The solid blue bandana she wore around her neck contrasted well against her dusky skin and brown clothing. Buckets' eyes sparkled. His fascination clear on his whimsical face. "It's good to see everyone working together on something. Drew you out of hiding."

"I owe Old Gran my life…Just about every person in this district owes that woman a debt. Even those who did this."

"From what I hear, they paid for it."

"Anyone seen him?"

"Runt?" Buckets shook his head, "It's easy to disappear in the Mud District, even for a man of his size. But I don't have to tell you that."

Clementine looked over the garden once more, "The Mudslingers will answer for what they've done."

"I've heard something similar from several people this morning."

"You don't agree?"

Buckets motioned towards Old Gran, "Do you see her growling and spitting in fury?"

He was not wrong. No frown wrinkled old Gran's already weathered face. No tears watered her eyes. Wrath left no blemish on her frail features. Instead, it was replaced with a slight smile.

"What are you trying to say?" asked Clementine.

"I'm saying she is old. She understands better than any of us. I'm saying, the last thing she wants is conflict."

"Kiera told me what you did. If you didn't want conflict then you shouldn't have gotten involved."

Buckets' smile vanished, "I made a mistake. I admit it. No matter where I seem to go violence follows. I thought I could stop it this time. I was wrong."

Hearing the brittleness to his words Clementine softened. "I don't mean to blame you. This would've happened eventually."

"Perhaps you're right." He didn't sound convinced. They were both quiet. The longer the silence stretched the deeper Buckets seemed to slip into melancholy. Clementine scolded himself. Buckets' out of place smile was the only good thing to come out of today and now he ruined it.

"Old Gran isn't the only one." Said Clementine, "The people of the Mud District owe you a great deal as well. They say you showed up out of nowhere with ten buckets on each arm."

That smile played on Buckets' lips once more, "It was actually just four on each. By myself I didn't even do much."

"You rallied the people. Both you and Kiera. Two strangers rushing into the inferno when everyone else was fleeing. Without you two the fire would've spread farther and more would've died. You're a hero, Buckets."

"Now you're just trying to make me feel better."

"I'm serious."

Buckets turned to regard Clementine. Seeing the truth in his resolve Buckets faced the garden again. "You think she likes heroes?"

"Kiera? You've known her longer than I. You tell me."

"That's not true. Contrary to popular belief, we didn't know each other before. First time I ever saw her she was leaping through the flames. Straight for me. Her tail was singed and her eyes feral. Like a wild beast come to tear my throat out. Instead she took my hand. Didn't bother to stop and wait for me. Almost yanked my arm right out of its socket. She found the well and we refilled my buckets. Back and forth we went from there. Not a word passed between us. Wasn't long before the others joined in."

"I never knew." Admitted Clementine.

"You never asked. I think this is the most we've ever spoken before in one sitting." He held up his palm, "Not that I'm complaining. It's good. I like talking to you, Augustus Clementine."

"Please, just call me Clementine." Clementine found himself smiling, "I'm surprised. The way she treated you afterwards. I just assumed you two had known each other all your lives."

Buckets barked a laugh, "Nah, Kiera is just like that. Took me forever just to get her to smile."

"If anyone ever could..."

Buckets spun around, leaning his back against the fence. His modest features crunched in thought. "My father told me this story once of a beautiful faunus woman who never smiled. The gossip in the local village was that anyone who could make her smile would win her heart. So when a traveling performer hears of the tale from a drunken audience member, he decides to try his luck. He visits her at her home every day for weeks. He tells her jokes, performs tricks, anything to get her to laugh. None of it works. The woman rarely even spoke to him and when she did her lips barely moved. The Performer eventually exhausts his entire routine to no avail. Left with nothing but his wit and desperation, he tries one last time. As his final act he takes a different approach, art. He's proven himself the fool to her so he paints himself as one. A self-portrait of him as a colorful jester.

"The painting was so outlandish and crude, yet it possessed a human charm to it. A smile broke out on the woman's face. She tried to fight it, but there was no stopping it. She burst into a fit of laughter. The Performer goes still, frozen in fear because hiding behind those beautiful wet lips were the teeth of a piranha. Horrified, the Performer lets out a scream and sprints from the home, leaving the faunus woman heartbroken." Buckets slowed in the telling of his tale, "She never smiled again."

"A bit morbid at the end there, don't you think?"

Buckets considered that before shrugging, "In other telling's of the story she chases the performer down and eats him."

"Lovely."

"Not all stories have a happy ending."

"Do you believe in them?" asked Clementine.

"Believe in what?"

"Stories. Myths…Fairy Tales."

"As in they're real?"

"Yes."

Buckets wondered a moment, obviously pleased with the strange inquiry. "Every story originates from somewhere. I imagine that long ago, those fairy tales were in truth, real. Over time they're forgotten and became stories, then legends, then myth, and finally fairy tales. The last in the cycle. By that time though more often than not the truth is gone. Lost underneath the layers of time. Why do you ask?"

"Some part of me still thinks they serve a purpose."

"More than just entertainment?"

"Each one holds some kind of message. A whisper from the past hidden deep. We just have to find it."

"And what would be the message of the tale I just told you?"

Clementine ran a hand through his hair as he thought. "That the most beautiful of things can be ugly on the inside, but that doesn't mean you look away."

"Seems like a stretch to me."

"Perhaps. I'm just a naïve kid grasping for straws."

The two of them cracked smiles before laughing together loud enough to catch Old Gran's attention.

"What do you two think you're doing?" she shouted, "You just finished one side. Go fetch more timber."

"What kind?" asked Clementine as he tried his best to contain his laughter.

"Whatever you can scrounge up." Was her reply.

* * *

Engulfed in fire, the wood crackled and charred black. The flames rose to lick Runt's skin. Smoke filled his lungs. Each gasping breath was like swallowing needles. He stumbled blindly in the inferno. A distant voice cried out to him but their words were devoured in the roar of the fire. Runt stepped back, the floorboards giving way beneath his weight. With a scream, he plummeted down into darkness. He tore through layer after layer of thick black webbing each one slowing his descent until at last he bounced to a halt.

The silky strings held him suspended in the air. Runt tried to fight his way free but the more he struggled the more tangled he became. From the gloom came a dim glow. Eight burning red eyes watching him. Each one the size of Runt's fist. They circled him. Invisible hands reached out, spinning Runt round and round. The webs thickened until they were as tough as steel. The creature continued to weave its cocoon. The black webbed prison encased his entire body, leaving only a small slit for his eyes. Enough to see the six other cocoons opposite him. Each one punctured, leaving a gaping hole where an entire brood of baby spiders crawled inside.

The glint of a sharpened point lowered right before him. The giant needle bobbed in the air before lifting high and striking.

Runt jolted awake, gasping for air. He tumbled out of bed, clasping a hand over his stomach. His groping found nothing. No gaping hole. No brood of skittering spiders. But he could hear them crawling through the rotted wood of the surrounding buildings. He could hear everything. The whole hum of Refuge jumbled into one maddening cacophony.

Breathing heavily, Runt kicked his way to the corner of the room where he stayed. Numbness coursed through his veins like a poison. He couldn't even feel the floorboards beneath him. The noise in his head sounded distant as if he were underwater. Runt closed his eyes and breathed. His hand moved up and down with every breath. Each one easier than the previous until at last he opened his eyes. Alone. The voices had faded, giving way to silence. An empty quiet interrupted by the knock on his front door.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Runt stood. The floor of his home was covered in saw dust. Several sculpted wooden figures were scattered on the ground. Runt had knocked them off their shelves in his struggle. He kicked through his old works, empty bottles, and other junk that cluttered his hovel of a home until he reached the front door.

* * *

Buckets sifted through the debris of a collapsed building, tossing any good pieces of timber back to Clementine who collected them in a neat little pile. In the sky above soared a pair of hawks. Buckets slowed in his work watching them. Enough for Clementine to notice.

"What do you think about when you look at them?" asked the younger man.

"Life." Said Buckets, "And you?"

"I'm overcome with an urge to go on journey." Mused Clementine, "Someplace far from here."

Buckets considered such a journey. Having taken one himself he knew the joys and dangers that accompanied it. Old memories beckoned him to reminisce.

"Do you miss it?" asked Clementine.

"Miss what?"

"Wherever it is you came from."

"Sometimes." admitted Buckets, "Things were a lot more comfortable in the city. That's for sure. Though too much comfort can be unsettling."

Clementine laughed but there was no humor in it. "It's funny. Everyone always refers to the other districts as 'the city'. As if we weren't a part of Refuge at all. Are we that far isolated that we are no longer a part of this city? This is where Refuge was born…right here in the mud. Did you know that?"

"Artisans say it started up in the Craft District, merchants say the Trade district, and politicians say the Administration District. Ask a rat and he'd say the sewer. Everyone thinks their own home is something special. Since no one back in the day bothered recording that type of stuff down we can't be sure. What does it matter anyway? Wherever Refuge first settled, it has little effect on the city today. There's no value in-"

"Shhhhhh." Hushed Clementine, "Someone's coming."

Buckets quit his rummaging and listened. The squish of footsteps pressing into the mud was soft, yet audible.

"One benefit of the Mud District," said Buckets, "it's impossible for anyone to sneak up on you."

Clementine opened his mouth, but said nothing. The footsteps halted before rounding the corner of the neighboring building. Just out of sight. Tense silence followed. Whoever it was didn't take another step. Buckets leaped down from the ruin.

"Who's there?"

In answer, the man stepped out into the open. Naz's nose had swollen with discoloration spreading across his flat face. In his right hand, he held a gun. A battle rifle so new it still shined. Clementine snarled and picked up a plank of wood as if ready to fight but Buckets stepped between them before either could take action.

Naz stared at the two of them, his finger brushing the trigger. Clementine inched forward, leveling the plank in his hand. Upon noticing the small movement Naz raised his gun and threw it in the mud at their feet.

"We need to talk." He said.


	4. Chapter 3

The two of them exchanged looks before turning to regard Naz once again. He knew they were going to be skeptical. Clementine most of all. They'd both been thorns in each other's sides since the first day they were dropped off at Greenberg's. There was not a scrap of trust between them.

"You want to talk?" Buckets knelt to examine the rifle, "If it's about this thing you brought here, then I think we better."

Naz readjusted the sling that held his left arm. "Sned sent me to kill you."

"Ah," that simple recognition came without surprise, but twice the sorrow than Naz was expecting. Buckets faced him. "Is it safe to assume that you're going against those orders?"

"I'm not a murderer." said Naz.

"Could've fooled me." Mocked Clementine.

Buckets retrieved the gun from the mud, inspecting it with familiar care. "This is part of the arsenal. The City Guard is only supposed to use these for a massive Grimm invasion on the city. Where'd you get it?"

"Sned. He got his paws on a whole crate full of them."

"How?"

"I don't know. No one asked. They were too busy thinking about how they can use them."

Clementine's face grew pale. "Use them for what?"

"To turn Sned's dream into reality," said Naz in a droll tone, "To take over the Mud District."

"You're joking."

Naz grimaced, "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"You never look like you're joking."

"At least with me you can tell."

As they bickered Buckets disassembled the rifle in a matter of seconds, dropping each piece into the mud. The ease and efficiency of how he did that startled Naz. It was as if he'd done it before, a thousand times. Naz wasn't alone in his curiosity. Clementine took note as well but kept his thoughts to himself as he's always done.

Buckets wiped his palms together, "So Sned is a sore loser and wants me dead. Who could've guess? What else is he planning?"

"My guess, he's going to try and take out anyone who poses a threat to his authority. These guns give him the power he needs to control this district, but he doesn't want anyone rallying the people against him. That includes you Buckets, and Kiera, but most of all, Runt Braun. Sned's no fool. He knows that even amongst his own, people still respect Braun. If he stood in their way then they'd likely stand down. Even with the power to take him out it wouldn't sit well with the majority of us. We were Braun's before Sned's and he knows this. But if he sent me to kill you in secret…"

"Then he's probably going to do the same with Runt and Kiera…" Clementine dropped his wooden plank in the mud. "Buckets!"

The young man was already breaking into a sprint. "I got Kiera." He shouted back, "You head to Runt's. Warn him before it's too late."

Clementine dashed in another direction. Naz watched them go. He wanted to follow…to help…to take Sned's guns away and break them over his head but he couldn't. He barely had the strength to stand. His body ached. The pain shooting through his broken nose filled his eyes with water, blurring his vision. Naz took one step in the direction Clementine went, his ribs groaning in protest. Then he took another and another.

* * *

Runt opened the door to find no one there. Confused, he glanced about, noticing several cloaked men across the street. They formed a half circle around him. The one in the center threw back his hood and laughed. Runt was too groggy to see his face clear, but the laugh was recognizable. Sned. From each cloaked man there came a flash of light.

* * *

It was perfect. The giant fool was caught totally unawares. By the time the shooting started it was already too late. Runt Braun had been blown back into his home, where he disappeared in the chaos. Sned and his men continued to fire, tearing through the squat building as if it were made out of paper. The jarring recoil of the rifle was the most pleasurable sensation Sned had ever felt. It took him to new heights. Ones he'd never even dreamed of before. He became lost in that high and only stopped when Runt's home had been demolished into a pile of wood chips.

* * *

The racket of gunfire was like a kick in Clementine's ass, spurring him faster. Other residents of the Mud District stopped all that they were doing and rushed towards the noise. They were panicked and scared. He shared their sentiments. By the time he got there a crowd had already formed around the scene. Clementine had to squeeze his way through just to see.

Runt's home was gone. There was little difference between what now took its place and the ruin where he had just been collecting wood. Sned sauntered towards the crowd, his own rifle now relaxed against his shoulder. The Mudslinger did away with his cloak and let his gaudy bathrobe billow out behind him.

"Listen up!" he shouted, "I don't like to repeat myself. This is all very simple. This district now belongs to us. We ask, you deliver. That's all." Sned leaned forward, cupping his hand around his ear. "What's that you ask? What if we resist?" With a snap of his finger's Sned's fellow assassins opened fire at the crowd's feet, just in front of the first row where Clementine stood. Mud exploded. People shouted in alarm and leapt back, falling over each other.

Sned held up his hand and the shooting stopped. He brought his pointer finger to his lips. "Shhhh. Hush, my friends." The startled crowd went silent. "Now are there any other questions? No? Good, I'm glad we understand each other. We'll be in touch. In the meantime…think over what you all just witnessed and imagine if you would, what could still happen if you step out of line. Until tomorrow then."

When Sned turned his back Clementine stepped out. "Where did you get the guns, Sned? Someone of your caliber couldn't possibly steal them. So how?"

Sned's shoulders trembled with laughter hiding rage. He spun around, driving the butt of his rifle into Clementine's gut. Wheezing, Clementine collapsed to his knees. The barrel of the gun pressed down onto his drooping head. Its muzzle torrid from the excessive use.

"I thought we were all understood?!" shouted Sned, "It appears I was wrong. Clearly not all of you grasp what I am telling you. Should I make an example then? An even further demonstration of our power?" The crowd reared and cried their opposition. Insults were thrown Sned's way like rocks. In truth, Clementine was touched. He had not expected so many to speak up for him. But their defiant tone did not help his situation. It just irked Sned more, making the need to prove his dominance even stronger.

"You want to live like a king, is that it?" Clementine dug one hand into the mud and held it up to Sned's face. "Here then, Sned. Your kingdom of mud! Take it!" Sned jumped back and kicked Clementine square in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. The people of the crowd moved into a protective circle around him. Of all the faces it was Naz's pain wrenched expression that helped Clementine to his feet.

"Kiera and Buckets?"

"I don't know." Said Naz, his face pale and clammy.

The mob of people swelled past them, threatening to crash down on Sned and his assassins like an ocean's wave. The thugs backed away, one hesitant step after another and each one quicker than the last. The threat of their guns did little to impede the growing enmity. Under different circumstances Clementine would've found this situation rather humorous. Sned thought he could take over the Mud District with some big threats and a couple of guns? These people are no strangers to hardship and violence. It's been their history. Past, present, and ultimately their future. _Oh Sned, the people's tolerance has grown thin._

Wood exploded into the air scattering large beams as if they were mere splinters. A hush fell over the street and everyone turned towards the demolished ruin of a home where another explosion sent debris flying. But it was no explosion, those were fists. Wood fell like rain and through the dust, Runt emerged. Scraped and bleeding. Several gunshot wounds sizzled, the heat of the blast cauterizing. Still he stood taller than any other. His hyper blue eyes tracked across the mud road until they found Sned. The wounded giant took one step forward and the Mudslinger leader shrieked.

"Kill him! Kill him now!"

* * *

Runt dodged to the left, keeping their fire away from the crowd. His aura had been depleted in their assault, but his physical strength was unbound. Runt blunted the pain with pure force of will. His movements were swift and light-footed, something he knew unexpected from a man of his size. Runt came upon the first thug and with a sweep of his arm sent the tiny man hurdling down the street. He skipped across the mud like a stone on water. The next one tried to flee so Runt grabbed him by his cloak and with a twirl, tossed him over the buildings. He didn't crash down until he was two streets over. By then Runt had turned on those still remaining.

Before he could cross the distance towards them Kiera emerged from the crowd. The heel of her boot took one of the Mudslingers in the head. Following her lead, the crowd surged and tackled another to the ground. The only one left was Sned himself. Runt charged the smaller man, slapping the gun away and lifting him high by his throat. His legs flailed helplessly in the air.

"Wait!" Augustus Clementine rushed towards him. "He needs to answer my question. Where did he get the weapons?"

Runt squeezed, "You heard him."

"From the city!" croaked Sned, "I got them from the city!"

Clementine stood at Runt's side. "How? From who?" Sned tried to speak but whatever he was trying to say came out as a squeak. "Runt, let him go."

Runt obeyed without a moment's hesitation.

Sned fell to the ground, coughing. "I-I don't know his name. My contact from the city…Just some rich man. He gave them to me. He gave me everything."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Cried Sned.

"Not good enough." Said Clementine.

Without needing to say anything Runt knew what Clementine wanted and Runt was willing to oblige. He stepped on Sned's hand, probably breaking his fingers. The would-be king howled in pain. "I swear! I swear, please! He never told me why! He just gave me what I needed. The guns, the Dust-"

"Dust?" asked Clementine, "What Dust?"

Sned went pale. His lips shriveled so much he looked to have swallowed them. Clementine loomed over the Mudslinger.

"Answer me or I'll have Runt squeeze your head like a melon."

"Years ago," rasped Sned, "in the city. I was out networking! He approached me. It was just a job. I was in a bad way with a lot of people and needed the money."

Runt lifted his foot off Sned's hand, "What was the job?"

"Just to deliver this case of Dust shards to the Mud District. I didn't know what for. I was drunk and didn't bother asking. Please, you have to believe me. I didn't know what would happen. Please!"

Runt's heart thundered like a drum in his chest. A sound so deafening it threatened to drown out the rest of the world. Sned wasn't making any sense. A rich man supplying him with weapons and Dust, not to mention all the toys and food. What for? It didn't add up. None of it did. _Lies, they have to be lies._

"The fire." Clementine spoke so soft only those in immediate distance could hear him. "The Dust shards started the fire." His words were repeated by those who heard and it spread through the street quicker than any rumor had before. "You brought a bomb here. To our homes…Our families."

"I didn't know." Pleaded Sned. "Please, you have to believe me, I didn't know!"

The murmuring crowd descended into panic. Their voices shouted out in earnest confusion. The street grew hysteric. All of it faded to the background. All Runt could hear was the beating of his heart. Delayed, but echoing. His blood boiled underneath his skin. A fire of his own raged inside him and in that inferno a voice cried out, shouting his name. Runt's body moved on its own. He took Sned by the face and tossed him in the air. That hand made a fist and pounded into Sned's chest mid-fall. The hapless thug plummeted to the mud where he tore across it like a crashing meteor.

Runt stomped towards him, following the streak until he made it to the man-sized crater where Sned's body convulsed. Blind with white hot fury Runt clasped both his hands together and lifted them over his head. As he was about to bring it down Clementine jumped in the way, putting himself between Runt and Sned. Runt's fiery wrath was met with cold rage. He hesitated and in that instant Clementine struck him right in the sternum with his open palm. A purple pulse emanated from that strike. The force of the thrust staggered Runt backwards several yards. He recovered but made no further movement. Clementine held him still with just a look. An aura of deep purple shrouded him in its glow. It flickered and dissipated all within the blink of an eye.

With the adrenaline subsiding, the pain flowed in. Clenching his jaw, Runt took a step forward before collapsing to one knee. He would've fallen further if Kiera and Buckets didn't catch him.

* * *

As she slung Runt's arm over her shoulder Kiera tried to meet Clementine's eyes, but he wouldn't allow it. He turned and knelt before Sned who stared up with a blank expression.

Sned struggled to even speak. "Thank…you."

Clementine pressed a finger down on Sned's chest. Just a small amount of pressure but after that blow dealt by Runt he might as well been stomping on his sternum. Sned was too weak to cry out. He merely groaned in agony. "I don't want your thanks. I want your story. From the beginning. Include every detail no matter how small and if I even feel like you might be lying to me…" Clementine pressed down, causing Sned to writhe like a worm pinned in the mud. "Then I'll make you eat your black heart."

"Kiera!" Buckets had to shout into her ear to get her attention. "We have to help him now!"

For the first-time Kiera took note of Runt's injuries. Too many to count. Seared patches of flesh marked his biceps, chest, and thighs. Smoke wreathed his heated body as if he were steaming. Blood leaked from the crest of puckered skin surrounding the wounds. His head drooped low as if he were unconscious but his eyes were wide open. She thought to see a look of agonizing pain, but it was just numb shock that fixed his features in a frigid pose.

Kiera grunted under the giant's weight, "Somebody give us a hand."

The fervent crowd rushed to help.


	5. Chapter 4

Runt wasn't sure what happened after he collapsed. The next thing he knew he was lying in an unfamiliar bed. A good portion of his legs were dangling off at the end. Somewhere close by water trickled down where it collected into a bowl. Above him someone hummed a sweet tune. Runt's sight was fuzzy as if it were all out of focus. But not her. She was as clear as the sun, bright and shining. Her eyes a light purple like lavender stared into his and all at once Runt forgot the aching pain that seeped through him. Risa swept back her luscious strawberry blonde hair. It's lovely shade a cross of pink and orange. Runt struggled to rise. He outstretched his hand, reaching, but the closer he got, the farther away she became.

The humming faded and Risa was gone. The reminder of her loss was a keen twisting of the dagger in his heart. In her place sat Augustus Clementine. He bore many similar characteristics to his sister, but he was of an entirely different nature. "Your wounds have healed nicely." Commented Clementine, "With your aura restored…Well, they mend even as we speak."

Runt sat up, "Where am I?"

"My home."

Runt's mind rocked like a sailboat behind his forehead. He held a hand over his mouth, feeling as if he were about to be sick. When the nausea passed, he looked up. "How long was I out for?"

"A few days."

"And Sned?"

"Gone." There was no inflection in Clementine's voice. He could've easily been talking about the trash for all Runt could tell.

"Gone?" repeated Runt, "What does that mean?"

"It means exactly that. He is gone. After learning everything I could from him I forced him out of the district. Along with his zealots who took part in the attempted assassinations."

"You exiled him?" gasped Runt, "Who gave you the right?"

"No one gave me the right…I took it for myself. I did what was best. If I didn't then the mob would've had him and after what he confessed I doubt a reasonable trial would've taken place. More blood would've been spilled and that's the last thing we need right now."

 _Confessed…_ The memories flooded back to him. Sned's confession. The truth behind the fire. Runt's own outburst and how Clementine stopped him. That quiet determination which laid dormant in his stares were so very similar to Risa's own. Seeing it again doused the fire that burned in that moment's rage. Now all that remained was smoldering ash, the taste thick on his tongue. He couldn't even look up to meet Clementine's words anymore.

"I always hated you." Stated Clementine rather bluntly.

Runt was silent.

After a long moment, Clementine continued. "I fully admit to it. As a kid, you were the force behind all that I despised. The ringleader of the Mudslingers. But of all the bullies and criminals, I hated you most of all because unlike them, you were strong. Naz and the rest had little other options in life, but you could've left. Traveled the Kingdom. Maybe even attended Haven or Sanctum academy and become a huntsman. Yet you stayed for what I assumed was just cowardice. Now I know better. You were protecting us from the very people you led."

"It wasn't easy." Said Runt, "I couldn't stop them completely. I let them play the part of the criminal they believed themselves to be. We stole and we fought. We hurt people. Your hatred for me wasn't entirely unjustified."

"You kept them on a short leash. For the most part, things were tame. After seeing what they're capable of under someone like Sned's leadership…Well, I think the whole district has come to appreciate the old days some more. You were never the coward I thought you were."

 _You're wrong._ Runt wanted to say it but he couldn't find the courage to do so. He supposed that's ironic. Things were quiet for a time. Runt stared down at his hands. Watched as they curled around the blanket, wrapping the fabric in tight creases.

"Can you walk?" asked Clementine, "I want to show you something."

* * *

The whole way people stopped and stared at the two of them. A question on their lips, but none brave enough to speak up and ask. It wasn't the right time. Things were too fresh still. After all that's transpired, best to go about like everything was normal. Runt followed Clementine without even bothering to ask where they were going. The large man had been stripped of the stupor he had been hiding in the past six years, leaving his raw emotions bare. Clementine suspected Runt had always been a tender soul, but now he knew the giant wasn't immune to rage. A fire blazed within him. All one had to do was fan the coals and see it spark to life. Clementine was glad. They'd need it for what's to come.

They left the populated section of the district behind and continued deeper. These abandoned streets always seemed such a waste to Clementine. All that space…All that potential to become something more than it was. But a ruin it stayed and so it shall forever as long as people were too afraid to even walk this way. Runt didn't look afraid. Not because he was putting on a brave face, but rather he simply didn't seem to care.

"You sure do love these parts." mused Runt, "The places you shouldn't be. Are we going to your secret hideout? I don't remember it this way."

"Whoever said I just had one secret hideout? But unlike the other you saw, this one is not by my design."

"What does that mean?"

"Easier to show you." He led Runt along the familiar path, winding through lopsided buildings and trudging across thick mud. Inside an alley between two sunken buildings, Clementine shoved aside the old cart that hid the tunnel entrance. "Naz always wondered how I was able to get past the Buffer during the day without being caught. Well, here is the answer. I went under."

Runt knelt at the tunnel mouth. The apathy drained from his face, replaced instead with something reminiscent of dread. "You can't be serious. You made this?"

"No, like I said this wasn't my design."

On all fours, Runt poked his head down into the tunnel. "Well someone dug this out. Look there. See the wooden beams?"

Clementine nodded, "The tunnel's ribs I call them. They lead all the way through in even spacing. They're half rotted now."

"They are probably the only reason it still holds. This leads past the Buffer?"

"Exit springs you up in the heart of the Flower District."

"But that's miles from here. Are you telling me you crawl all that way in the dark?"

"So many times I lost count."

Runt turned to look down the other direction of the tunnel. "And where does this lead?"

"I don't know. Tunnel caved about fifty feet in or so."

Runt stepped back as if afraid he might fall in. "Who else knows about this?"

"Just the two of us."

"How can you be sure? What about the people who made it?"

"There hasn't been any sign of them. They are either dead or left it far behind. Never to return."

Runt retreated to the edge of the alley, his back to him. Clementine thought he might flee like he did before, but Runt stopped himself. His shoulders slumped and his head drooped. "Why are you showing me this?"

"I want you to trust me so that together, we can do what needs to be done."

"And what's that?"

"Don't play dumb." Scolded Clementine, "You're smarter than that. You know what I mean. Before I exiled him, I made Sned tell me everything. The man who gave him the Dust and the guns. His supporter all this time was none other than Colton Moss."

"Is that name supposed to mean something?"

"On paper, he's probably the most powerful man in Refuge. His ass polishes a seat on the Mistral council. A person like that has influence in every branch of government. The courts, the military, you name it. There's no way we can get to him through any legal means. We'll have to fight."

Runt hesitated, "From what you just said it sounds like fighting should be the last thing we do."

"I've crawled for too long. We all have. We've suffered and endured their indifference for years. Now it's clear, they want us gone. The fire…backing someone like Sned…the constant expanding of the Buffer. Don't you see? Moss is trying to squeeze us out. We're like worms to him!" Clementine struggled to maintain his even voice. It took him some time to slow his heart and regain his calm. During that brief interlude Runt didn't say a word. "The question I'm asking-The question everyone else is thinking…What do _you_ want to do about it?"

His question was met unanswered. Runt stood as if he were one of his wooden sculptures, elegantly carved but inanimate. Clementine's words might as well have been pebbles bouncing off the larger man. After a time spent in pensive thought Runt's back straightened. His slumped shoulders rose and he turned to meet Clementine's glare. There it was. Behind his blue eyes a spark flickered off the still smoking coals.

* * *

Clementine's home was surrounded by what looked like the entirety of the Mud District's population by the time they returned. The gathering filled the whole street like some parade. Runt and Clementine both halted upon seeing them. Breaking from the horde, Kiera rushed to meet them.

"Where have you two been?" she asked.

"Thinking." Replied Runt.

Clementine sidestepped Kiera. "What's going on here?"

"Couldn't say for sure. People just started gathering. They want-"

"I know what they want." Runt looked to Clementine who gave him a reaffirming nod. Their presence was quickly noticed. A chunk of the crowd shoved its way past and advanced towards the three of them. Mudslingers. All of them. In their lead, hobbled Naz, a freshly carved club in his good hand. He halted about ten feet in front of Runt and immediately dropped to his knees, head lowered. The rest of the Mudslingers followed suit and a hush quieted the district. Naz raised his head and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

"We've done wrong. We know that now. We're not asking for forgiveness. I don't expect it. All we ask is for a chance to prove ourselves in whatever's to come."

Before Runt could even open his mouth to speak voices rang out from the rest of the population. They shouted insults at the kneeling men and women. Mostly complaints about past transgressions. Then the tone shifted to their association with Sned.

"We had no clue about Sned's involvement with the fire!" Bellowed Naz, "If we did we never would've followed him. My mother died that night. In case you all forgotten…" Naz's spiteful glare held on Clementine just for a moment. Runt noted Clementine's dumbstruck expression. _Had he not known?_

"I would've killed Sned myself, if he were still here." Naz's plain desire for murder didn't help his case. More shouts resounded from the crowd. An outpour of crimes ranging from vandalism to violent muggings. Someone threw a rock that cracked Naz in the temple. He grunted and bled, but accepted the blow. "We have no excuse. Hate us if it makes you feel better. We'll still do what needs to be done."

The bubbling crowd hesitated, but the pause only brought about a relapse in the shouting and hurling of projectiles. What surprised Runt the most was the disappointment in the crowd's incoherent voice. After some thought it made sense. The Mudslingers were very much the Mud District's misfit children. The gathered crowd was comprised of parents. Once family and friends whose relationships were strained due to the Mudslingers' actions. Deep down they didn't care about who stole what or who hit who. With any random outsider, a situation like that would've been dismissed. But that fact that it was their children, neighbors, and friends who did it made all the difference. No wonder they were hurt.

The Mudslingers offered up no defense to the ridicule spat their way. The sympathetic ears out in the crowd such as Kiera and Buckets were outnumbered. Runt was well aware of Clementine's eyes on him, waiting for some kind of response. He bristled. His foot raised in the air like a gavel. It hovered a moment before stomping down in an explosion of mud. The whole street trembled in that shockwave. The gathered district faltered and all eyes fell on him.

"Enough!" shouted Runt, his voice booming. "Why do we fight amongst ourselves? What good does it do us? They came here seeking to end the fight, something I know many of you wished for in the past. But now here they are and you spit in their faces?"

A teen with a bruised face came forward. "How can we just move on after all they did? They tormented us, stole from us, and beat those who resisted. They even trashed Old Gran's garden!"

Clementine's voice moved through the crowd like a cutting breeze. "Moving forward doesn't require you to forget the past, Alfie. But if we are to have a future, then we must focus on the real enemy."

"He's right." Runt stood in front of Naz and the rest who were still on their knees. "Get up and listen. All of you! We are under siege from an unknown enemy. An enemy responsible for the fire that took so many of our loved ones. An enemy responsible for supplying Sned. An enemy who's neglect and mistreatment has consumed our lives here!" Runt clasped his hand on Naz's shoulder, a gesture that brought the smaller man to tears. "We will stand against them, whoever they are. You can spit insults in our direction, throw mud at our backs…you have every right. Or you can help us and change this district for the better. I've given my answer. What will be yours?"

His question shattered any defiance that remained in the crowd. Runt's heart thudded in his chest. He surveyed the mud stained expressions of his district. More than two hundred of them. Men, women, and children all shaken to their foundations. Runt was glad for their shocked states otherwise they might've seen how sweaty he had become. Fingers twitchy. His gaze unable to hold on anything longer than a second. Despite the steal in his tone, he remained uncomfortable in his current position.

Runt found the faces of his friends scattered throughout the street. Old Gran's tears dissolved the mud from her weathered face, making her appear ten years younger. Kiera stood beside Buckets with an arm wrapped around his neck squeezing tightly so that it appeared she had him in a headlock. Both wore childlike grins. Clementine observed the crowd, his face a mask. He tried so hard to hide his emotions, but Runt saw the shimmer in his eyes as he witnessed the crowd's growing resolve. Runt had won their spirits, but it was Clementine's words he borrowed. Right down to a tee. They stirred the district just as Clementine said they would.

* * *

Just on the other side of the city, yet in a whole different world, Councilor Colton Moss slept in a bed of silks and plush pillows. The woman sharing his covers laid stone still as if dead, but in truth merely incapacitated from the night's worth of drinking and other narcotic delights. Bright hues strobed in from the window, painting the room in a mix of colors. A harsh banging on the door disturbed Moss' sleep. Groaning, he rolled onto his backside and groped around his nightstand. He threw the first thing he got a grip on at the door, which happened to be an unopened bottle of wine. The glass shattered against the wooden surface, splashing red liquid everywhere.

The knocking stopped and Moss flipped back into bed, his hand unintentionally smacking the woman in the face. She didn't even react. After a few seconds of relieving silence, the door was kicked open, ripping off the engraved framing. Ira Glass strode into the room. Enraged and a little more than embarrassed, Councilor Moss leapt out of bed and haphazardly threw on a robe to cover himself.

"What are you doing you crazy bitch?" he squealed.

"No need to be shy. You wouldn't answer the door." she peaked into the bed. "Be a gentlemen, Moss. Pay the girl and send her on her way."

"Can't. She is out cold for the night."

Ira Glass eyed the bottles and needles tossed about on the brothel floor along with a mess of clothing. "I suppose it takes some sort of courage."

Moss grew red, "What is so important it couldn't wait till tomorrow?"

"Alvaro. Ward." The two bodyguards came marching into the room with a third man dragged between them. They dropped the dirtied, beaten man on the floor before Moss.

"City Guard caught this one and some of his buddies trying to sneak across the Buffer. When brought in for questioning he knew your name. Claimed to be a friend of yours." Ira's white smile vanished into a straight line. "You know this man, Mr. Councilor?"

"Let me see his face." Alvaro knelt, grabbed the man by a tuft of his hair and yanked his head back for the councilor to see. It took him a few seconds to recognize the face through the grime and swollen wounds. "I know him…Why'd you beat him so bad? He's no good to me in this condition."

Ira Glass took out her straight stem wooden pipe and placed it between her teeth. One of her bodyguards, Ward, lit the deep bowl with a match. "He came that way, I'm afraid." She stepped closer to the councilor and blew out rings of fragrant smoke that broke against his face. "You want to explain something to me now."

Moss sneered and dispersed the intoxicating smoke with a few waves of his hand. "This man was doing a job for me."

"A job, huh? Looks like something went wrong."

Moss kneeled so that he was eyelevel with Sned. "What happened?" When Sned didn't respond Moss slapped him. "Answer me."

Sned blinked back into awareness. "I…I tried doing as you asked, Mr. Moss, Sir. Take over the Mud District…for you. But I failed. They drove me out. Exiled me. If I didn't leave they would've killed me, I'm sure of it."

Moss clawed at his patchy beard, "I gave you everything you ever asked for. Everything you possibly needed to succeed. A whole crateful of weapons!"

Ira Glass started at that. "You what?"

Moss held up a hand to her, his eyes never leaving Sned. "Did I not gift you that? Did I not reward you handsomely? I found you. Raised you out of the muck. Is this how you repay my kindness? With failure?" Sned tried to speak, but only garbled nonsense came out. "Why did they let you go? Hmm? What did you tell them?"

The answer was clear in Sned's eyes before he even spoke. "They know the truth about the fire."

Moss grabbed Sned by his ridiculous bathrobe and hefted him up, "And me? Did you tell them about me?"

"No, Mr. Moss, Sir." Stammered Sned, "I never mentioned your name. I would never betray you."

"You're lying." Growled Moss, "I'm a politician, I know how to lie and I know when people are lying to me."

Ira snorted, "I wasn't aware your perception was so honed. We must all look like fools in your eyes."

"Please sir," begged Sned, "I'm telling the truth, honest. Give me another chance. I underestimated some of them. I won't fail you again. Let me return to the Mud District and I'll take it over in just a week. I'll rule it in your name."

"Oh, Sned, you were never meant to rule the Mud District. You were just a means to further drive its citizens to leave the city. Something that wouldn't even be necessary if the fire had gone as planned and burned the place to the ground. I suppose you failed me there as well. That's twice now."

Sned's face broke further than Moss thought possible. "What? Wh-what do you mean?" his voice was like that of a confused child.

Moss addressed the two brutes looming in the doorway. "Take him away." They didn't do as commanded, but instead looked to Ira Glass. Once she nodded her approval Alvaro and Ward dragged Sned away. The stunned brown foot didn't even resist.

Moss retreated to his bed where he plopped down. He never should've entrusted so much to a brown foot. It was a mistake to think Sned was any better than the rest of them. Now they knew his name and what he did. Fear was an unwelcome pressure, one in which Moss couldn't shrug away. Glass watched him sulk while she huffed on her pipe.

"Is there anything else I should know about?"

Moss glared at her for a few moments before turning away once he realized it had no effect. "No."

Glass was silent for a time. "People died in that fire, didn't they?"

Moss wrung his hands together so tight his knuckles turned white. "You'll help me, won't you? Please…" Spitting out the last word was always the hardest for Moss.

"I suppose I'll have to. For all our sakes. I'll see to your mess. In the meantime, Councilor, I suggest you head home and see to your wife. She must be worried sick." On her way out she stopped. "Oh, and my apologies about the door. You know how I love to make an entrance."

The councilor's mistress laid still on the bed, numb to all the lovely silk that covered her naked body like bad gift wrapping. Years of this lifestyle left her rather immune to the flood of narcotics, which would've kept any normal person sedated till morning. She still couldn't move, but she could listen. It's easy enough to feign sleep when you're practically paralyzed. No one pays her much attention anyway. In their minds, she was merely a doll. Something pretty to look at and if you could afford it, play with. So they talk, unmindful of the fact that the doll has ears. Usually it's nothing consequential, but this night she happened to overhear some rather interesting things.

Swearing under his breath Moss tossed her payment on the bed and prepared to leave. She made no move to collect it. The Councilor's ego had been bruised and as she well knew the only repair for that bludgeoning was to inflict it on someone else. Usually it was herself, but in the state she was in there was little fun in it for the councilor. So who then would his victim be? Not his wife for sure, but some poor servant at the Citadel whose luck had abandoned them for the night. The Mistress knew too many men like that. Ones with their silver spoons and bibs. Overgrown children.

This night was not a waste at least. Such secrets revealed. None of it made much sense to her, nor did she much care in the first place. Though she could not deny the satisfaction of hearing Moss being scolded like the child he was. As for everything else that transpired…Well, Mr. Teal will be pleased.


	6. Chapter 5

A hawk circled overhead just a block away. Buckets observed its flight pattern with some intrigue. The bird made no move to land or continue onwards. It flew in the same spiral radius again and again, occasionally letting out a piercing cry. What was it waiting for? A hawk was no vulture looming above, waiting to feast on the leftovers. They would sweep down and snatch their prey the instant the opportunity arrived. So what was this one doing? Buckets grew curious enough about the bird that he even lost track of where he was heading.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" asked a skeptical Kiera, "We're getting a little too close to the Spine for my tastes." Her panther tail fidgeted in agitation.

"Scared?" teased Buckets, using her few seconds of flusterment to reacquaint himself with the path he was taking.

"Unlike you I have a keen sense of my environment. The closer we get to the Spine the more that little voice inside tells me to turn and run in the opposite direction."

"These are the directions Clementine gave me." Said Buckets once he figured where they were.

"Last week there was another sinkhole." Said Kiera, her voice quiet like a kitchen mouse. "This one dangerously close to Greenberg's. A whole building gone in a matter of seconds. Swallowed up by the very ground we're treading on."

"Worry isn't a good look for you." Said Buckets.

"We can't all be as carefree as you are."

"I must look like a grinning fool to you."

A slim smile touched Kiera's lips, "Most of the time you do. But I'm not complaining."

"Good." Buckets turned off the path, heading in the direction of the circling hawk.

"Where are you going?" called Kiera, "You're lost aren't you? Dammit, you should've written the directions down."

"I thought you weren't complaining?" He climbed on top of a building, which had sunken so far down that the roof was waist level. Free of the clinging mud, Buckets hurried across the slanted rooftop. On the other side, the hawk flew directly overhead. Below it, stuck in the middle of the street was another hawk. Its wings were glued to the thick muck. Probably dove to catch a similarly snared prey and got caught itself. The trapped hawk struggled but no matter how hard it strained it couldn't break free.

Kiera clapped him on the back, her ravenous eyes fixed on the bird. "Nice find. I'm thinking dinner."

"Is that all you think about when you look at it?" asked Buckets.

"No." she admitted, "Makes me wish I had wings rather than a tail."

The circling hawk landed on a skeletal rooftop opposite of them. It regarded the human and faunus both with a cold, unblinking stare. Buckets hopped off the rooftop and trudged his way closer to the trapped bird. His eyes though never left the partner perched across the street.

"Careful," warned Kiera, "they can claw your eyes out with those talons of theirs."

As Buckets came within ten feet of the trapped hawk its partner spread its wings and arched its body ready to take flight. Buckets froze momentarily. Kiera watched from behind in tense silence. For that, Buckets was thankful. Any sudden movements and that hawk would sweep down.

Raising his open hands into the air, Buckets started forward once more, slower this time. "Easy now." He knelt next to the snared hawk who fixed him with an all too human expression. Fear. Confusion. Wonder. Its partner made no move, but remained poised to strike if necassary. With one hand, Buckets started to scoop out the mud surrounding the snared hawk. The entire time it just stared at him, as if contemplating his actions.

When it could, the hawk walked clear of the mini pit it had dug itself in and spread its muddied wings. The majestic beast had dark feathers tinged orange near its shoulders and feet. Using his fingertips, Buckets scraped the large chunks of mud off the feathers and flicked them away. When he finished, the hawk craned its head up towards him. Those golden eyes stared into his own. Then with a few flaps of it wings it was in the air once more. Joining its mate, the two hawks circled a few more times before flying off into the distance.

Kiera spoke from behind him. "Why'd you let it go?"

"It had a mate…or a friend at least. How would you feel if someone came along and unceremoniously took a person like that away from you?"

She sighed as if she expected that answer, but was still disappointed. "You're too soft for this world."

"Why do you say that?"

"Survival of the fittest. The strong thrive while the weak die. It's the way of the world we live in."

Buckets held up a hand to shield himself from the sun. Off in the distance the two hawks swerved around each other in some kind of dance or celebration. He couldn't help but smile. "Those who are strong…Who are really strong. They are the ones who are able to look out for the weak. Don't you agree?"

"I protect you and look out for the district because I'm going against threats still weaker than myself. If I ever faced an opponent stronger than me then I'd run and leave you all behind."

"You don't mean that."

She turned away so he couldn't see her face. "I've done it before."

"I once chewed on an eraser thinking it was gum, that doesn't mean I'll do it again."

Kiera chuckled at that, but the joy was short-lived. "Sometimes there are situations you just can't fight your way out of. And with things heading in the direction that they are, I fear that day is soon to come. When it does I want you to flee with me."

"Leave the Mud District?" Just posing the question felt wrong. "Leave Refuge?"

"There's more to the world than this!" she exclaimed, "We can see it all…together."

Buckets staggered as if struck. In the distance the hawks cawed. "All my life I've been searching for a place to be happy. A place to smile and really mean it. After all this time, I've finally found it…I've come to admire the Mud District and the people here a great deal. But my mother used to say that home is where the heart is. Mine is with you. Even when you don't want it to be."

Relief flushed Kiera's cheeks. Her panther tail which had been dragging now swayed happily. Kiera took him by the arm and continued onwards.

"Let's go," she said with a smile, "They're probably waiting for us."

Buckets allowed himself to be tugged along, unmindful to the fact that Kiera had no idea where they were going.

* * *

"I still don't understand why we're meeting here." Complained an obviously uncomfortable Kiera.

"Clementine likes his secret places." Said Runt.

Clementine stared up past the absent roof to the burnt evening sky. "It's true I like my secluded spots, but that's beside the point. Here, no one can hear us. If we stand any chance of success then we must trust each other and that means talking honestly."

"What he means to say is that we will be arguing. Quite a lot I imagine. It would be best if people didn't hear that."

"But you've already won them." Said Kiera, "The district is behind you and so are we."

"They will follow Runt, yes, but people are fickle. We can't give them any cause to doubt our new enterprise. This peace amongst ourselves is still fragile. Any crack can undo us. It's right after the victory do we stand the highest chance of defeat."

Buckets chuckled in amusement, "Where do you get these ideas?"

"I read a lot." Said Clementine with a sly smirk.

Kiera kicked her legs up onto the table and leaned back in her chair so that it balanced on both its hind legs. "So, what's the plan then? How do we fight an enemy when we don't even know their name?"

"That's not entirely true," corrected Clementine, "Before his ostracization, Sned informed me that he has just one contact in the city. One person that's been providing him with resources this whole time. The Dust and weapons were gifted to him by Councilman Colton Moss."

Kiera was oblivious to the name. She just leaned back in the chair, her panther tail swinging. Buckets on the other hand pricked up in alarm. However, Clementine noted the lack of surprise in the young man's face.

"A member of the Mistral council?" Buckets scratched at his chin stubble. "This is most disturbing news."

"What can he want from us?" asked Kiera, on guard after witnessing Buckets reaction.

"We know they want us gone." Answered Clementine, "Other than that I'm not so sure."

"Why though?" asked Runt, "Backing Sned…Causing the fire. Why go to such lengths?"

Clementine shrugged, "Maybe he needs space for a new project of his and we're in the way. Maybe we're just an eyesore in his otherwise beautiful city. Or maybe he just hates us. The why doesn't matter in this moment. When someone bloodies your nose, you don't stand there and ask him why. You punch back."

Buckets shook his head as if he didn't want to believe anything he was hearing. "Against who? Moss? He's a member of the Mistral Council. The fate of one effects all the others. If we strike at him the Council will bring the full might of Mistral down on our heads. The councilor is untouchable and believe it or not, the least of my worries."

Runt removed himself from his self-isolation in the corner of the room. "How so?"

Recognizing the uncomfortable situation Buckets put himself in, Clementine spoke up. "While Refuge is a part of the Kingdom of Mistral in truth it acts more like a city-state with every passing year. I've been watching for a long time now. There's more mystery to this city than I care to admit."

Runt leaned both hands on the table, studying Clementine's map. "And what have you learned so far?"

Despite himself, Clementine smiled. He's spent years researching. Always by himself. Discreet. Never did he dream he would be discussing his findings with anyone else. Now here they were, a gathering of individuals sharing the same desire that's driven him for the latter half of his life. With their support and backed by the rest of the Mud District things seemed within reach for the first time.

"Every week the same box trucks drive past the gates. Always at noon on Sunday. Like clockwork. They deliver their cargo to the Buffer warehouses. From there they're goods are distributed throughout the districts. Primarily to Vulcan Industries in the Craft and the Trade District Bazaar. The truckers themselves spend a day and night in the private rooms of the Flower District's brothels." Clementine pointed out the locations on the map as he spoke. "The trucks come from outside the city that much is clear. Yet, as far as I can tell no one knows the specific whereabouts or what they're holding. However, judging by their tires' grit I'd say they're within the Spine's valley or not far from it. Yet none of the known villages or hamlets in the valley glades have seen them. This is but one of the many mysteries of Refuge I've been looking into. There is a lot of traffic here, which means there are bound to be other players out there. Maybe more powerful than the councilor himself."

"We can't be sure who's against us and who's not." Added Kiera.

"That's why we have to force them out. They've been using the Buffer to squeeze us for years now. It's time we pushed back. Hardly anyone recognizes we exist. I say we remind them. Push the garrison of City Guard out of the Buffer and claim it as our own along with whatever they got stored in those warehouses. They won't be able to ignore us then. This way our enemies will have no choice but to reveal themselves to us."

"You make it sound so simple." sighed Runt, "Those City Guardsmen aren't just going to pick up and leave, even if we ask nicely."

"I don't imagine they would." Said Clementine.

Buckets fidgeted, "You want to fight your way through?"

"If it comes to that."

Kiera cracked her knuckles, "What's the matter? Don't think we'll win?"

Runt spoke up, "Incapacitating street thugs is one thing. The City Guard is a little something else. They're trained, organized, and well-equipped. Not to mention their numbers."

Clementine choked on a laugh, "You hold a high opinion of them. Truth of the matter is most City Guardsmen are just common citizens. The most they have to deal with on a daily basis is lost tourists. Isn't that right, Buckets?"

The accusing way Clementine framed the question drew everyone's attention. The young man smiled nervously, "How long have you known?"

"I never knew for sure." Said Clementine, a hint of guilt in his voice for putting Buckets on the spot. "Until now."

Kiera's eyes went wide. "Hold up. What are you implying?"

Clementine winced, "He never told you?"

"Told me what?"

Buckets cringed, "I suppose you three deserve to know. Especially if we're being truthful and all…"

Kiera leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over. "You were part of the City Guard!"

Buckets retreated back a few steps, "Technically I was still considered a recruit when I left. Worked patrol in the Buffer. It's a tradition for all recruits about to join any form of Refuge's military. A rite of passage they say. But it's really meant to establish the understanding of the situation in the Mud District."

"Why'd you leave?" asked Runt, awestruck.

"The night of the fire I rushed to a superior officer and asked him what we should do to help. He said to let the place burn to ashes and save us the trouble." Buckets' face scrunched in disgust. "I wouldn't have that. When the officer saw the defiance in my eyes he told me that if I went to help then I shouldn't bother coming back. Well, I did just that. Didn't think twice about it. Just filled as many buckets of water as I could find and set off. The rest you know."

Kiera hadn't moved an inch. She stared at Buckets with a dumbstruck expression. The former recruit squirmed under her gaze like an ant under a magnifying glass. "Listen, Kiera-"

"How can you not tell me?"

"It wasn't important."

"Not important?!" Her voice rasped with rage.

"You never asked about my past."

Kiera lunged at Buckets, grabbing him by the hem of his shirt and pulling him in close. She raised her fist to strike him. Buckets closed his eyes in acceptance of the blow but it never came. Clementine watched as her fist wilted and fell limp to her side like a dead plant. What Buckets said stabbed deeper than any knife could. Kiera released him and moved to retake her chair. Dazed, she plopped down with a defeated look in her eyes. The structure of the conversation died away in the awkward silence that followed. A palpable tension emanated from the two partners. Clementine feared that would be the end of the conversation until Buckets started up again, picking up where they left of as if nothing happened.

"In terms of the City Guard, you're both right and both wrong. They're trained, yes and organized, but they lack any experience in dealing with matters of violence. They won't be able to hold an organized front for long. Still, their numbers pose a problem. When I was a recruit the garrison at the Buffer was comprised of around fifty or so. I'd imagined its increased since then. Then there are the rest of the guard who patrol the other districts. When the precinct catches word they'll send reinforcements. If you don't break through before those reinforcements arrive then you will most likely be overrun."

Clementine cleared his throat, "What about their individual strength? What's a singular guard capable of?"

"It's like you said, they are normal people. Few would even have unlocked their aura. The real guard are the ones outside the city. The Ranger Division. They patrol Refuge's borders and see to safe passage of its caravans and train tracks. Why you think Refuge never has any real problem with Grimm? Rangers keep them at bay. This whole valley and the land beyond it are under their protection. They can hold their own in a fight and can even rival Huntsman in combat. I was being groomed for such a position."

"You possess an aura?" asked an even more bewildered Kiera.

Buckets' nod was meek, "Among other skills." For a split-second Kiera opened her mouth as if to ask a question, but she quickly closed it. She stared straight ahead once again with no doubt a thousand questions running through her head.

Clementine leaned forward, his hand brushing the red X on the map where the Buffer would be. "As a former guard, do you have any idea what the warehouses hold?"

"Now there is a question that's asked a lot. Simply put, I don't know. None of the guard do. If any did it wouldn't be a secret anymore."

"How is that possible?"

"Everything is held in the same big cargo containers. Like the crate of weapons Sned possessed. We're not allowed to open them. We just safeguard their exports and imports from the warehouses. It's all hush, hush. Anyone who starts asking to many questions or tries to sneak a peek ends up unemployed. Never to find work in Refuge again. Few care enough to even ask the question." Noticing Clementine's disappointment Buckets added, "This is a good thing though. For us at least. No one wants to risk their lives protecting other people's junk. Especially when they don't even know what it is."

Runt crossed his arms, "What does it matter what the warehouses hold?"

Clementine clapped him on the shoulder, "We have a small army of thieves and criminals eager to prove themselves. I say let them off their leash a bit. Have the Mudslingers loot the warehouses. Take whatever we can get our hands on."

Runt's face darkened, "That's dangerous. We don't know whose stuff we'd be stealing. We may end up making an enemy out of someone we need as a friend."

"Until we know for sure, everyone outside the Mud District is an enemy. What's inside those warehouses will give us some clue as to what we're dealing with."

Runt tried to protest further but Kiera stopped him with a flick of her tail. "I'm with Clementine on this one. We could use all the supplies we can get and whatever is in there may give us some clue as to the why behind it all."

"Fine." Grunted Runt, "But Sned's guns stay behind. If we use that on them, then they will do the same to us. That's trouble we don't need. Agreed?" Everyone nodded their head.

Clementine searched their faces, committing them to memory. "Alright then. Kiera, Buckets, split up and spread the word around. This happens tomorrow morning. No more waiting."

"How can we expect them to be ready so fast?" asked Buckets.

"They've been waiting for this answer for days now. Trust me…They're ready." Clementine turned to Runt, "Go to your Mudslingers. Let them know what's happening. They'll listen to you. They should be there tomorrow. If only just to witness."

Runt shook his head as if to disperse the picture he imagined. "They'll do more than that, I'm sure of it."

* * *

That night the young man known as Buckets did as he was told and spread the word to everyone he knew. Thankfully, Kiera left him be even though there were a million questions between them. Such things could wait. Buckets knew going into detail now wouldn't help anyone. He was grateful that Kiera understood as well.

Buckets returned to the local inn to find the innkeeper passed out drunk at the bar. After making sure he was still breathing, Buckets washed the dishes and tended to the fire smoldering in the hearth. Being the man's only patron, Buckets often thought of the two of them more as roommates than anything. He stayed poking at the fire for some time hoping for the innkeeper to wake. There was a lot on his mind he hoped to talk about with the man. Over the years, Buckets learned that Coll the innkeep was a terrible conversationalist but a great listener. Especially when hammered.

When it became apparent that his friend was out cold for the night Buckets went up to his small single room on the third floor. There wasn't much in the way of possessions. Just some clothes and daily life items he's collected since his years living in the Mud District. That night six years ago he left his whole life behind, which included all of his belongings. Well, most of them anyhow. The one memento he still had of his past he kept in the chest at the foot of his bed. Buckets unlocked the box and worked to remove the layers of clothing inside to reach the dresser's bottom.

There it was, wrapped in his old blue striped recruit uniform. Buckets stood and unwrapped it, letting the tattered jacket fall to the floor. He held it as if it were made of glass. His hands moved across its smooth surface, inspecting the weapon. Unlike the collapsible nightsticks of the City Guard, which tapered off at the ends, Buckets' baton was uniquely shaped. The club end of the baton was made from a cylindrical metal tube punctured with smooth curved holes. Buckets twirled the baton, testing its familiar weight. The air passing through the holes created a soft humming sound almost like a whistle.

Buckets was raised to believe that only fools named their weapons. Overly romantic huntsmen and huntresses who dreamed of being a hero in the songs. The real heroes were always nameless. That's what his farther beat into his head day after day. Just to spite that old boar Buckets had decided long ago that his weapon would be called, _Nameless_.

* * *

After spreading word to the appropriate parties about the agreed upon plan the faunus named Kiera hurried home. It had been a long couple of days. Between the attempted assassinations and dealing with the growing unrest that resulted from Sned's confession there was little time for much else. She collapsed on the feather stuffed bed, her face buried in the pillow. Despite her exhaustion and desire to sleep, something kept her up. A sense of responsibility. Like an itch that needed to be scratched. Kiera rolled out of bed and shoved the mattress aside. It's a common thing for people in the Mud District to hide their special belongings under floorboards. Break-ins had become a daily routine for Mudslingers under Sned's leadership. With him gone though virtually all crime in the Mud District came to a screeching halt. Even so, habits were hard to break.

Hidden away beneath the floorboards she had an ever-increasing pile of letters all marked for the same address. Kiera grabbed a blank piece of paper and her stubby pencil which was worn down almost to the eraser. She fell back onto her bed and began to write. A stream of consciousness recounting the tales over the past few days. Anything that crossed her mind went down. As she scribbled away she slipped into a relaxed state, one of open thoughts. This happened whenever she sunk her teeth into her letters. In this state her tail had a mind of its own, wagging about in the air above her. Another unconscious habit was that she stuck out her tongue as she wrote. Just a little bit. Enough to wet her lips and occasionally clean out her teeth.

All her worries and fears and questions she so desperately wanted to ask…It all went into the letter. After both sides were dense with words, she sealed the paper inside a spare envelope and marked it with the same address as all the others. Only then did she allow herself to sleep.

* * *

Runt kicked through the debris that was his home. The building had been leveled to the ground by Sned's guns. Just looking at the destruction made Runt wonder how he even survived. The wounds that were once like lead in his body were nothing more than puckered skin. Just additions to his collection of burn scars. Runt had considered joining Buckets at the inn for he knew he would get no sleep tonight. Thoughts of tomorrow were like needles poised just beneath the bed of his mind. If he tried resting they'd stick him till he became a porcupine.

Oh, how he wanted to drink the worries away. Like he's done on countless nights before. Buckets was Coll's only occupant, but not his only customer. Runt spent not a small part of the last six years at the inn getting drunk only to pass out in the stable behind it. The temptation to continue to do so was real. The fact that the whole district was looking to him now was the only thing that stayed his hand.

Something metallic caught his eye in the rubble. Runt cleared away the debris, digging up his tool belt. Still attached to it were his hammer, hatchet, and wood chisels. His main carpenter tools. That's what he had become in the past six years. When he wasn't drunk he was carpenter. Sometimes both. He turned his wood sculpting hobby into a daily distraction, becoming the district's most skilled and unreliable handyman. Runt buckled the thick belt back around his waist and sifted through the many pockets to see what bits still remained.

The chilled night breeze was a relief from the day's heat. Runt fell back onto the ruin as if it were a haystack. Wood bended and snapped underneath his weight. He closed his eyes and silenced the world. An easy task for Runt.

Someone settled down with him, snug in the fold of his arm. He could feel the weight of her on his bicep. Her body pressed against his own. The scent of oranges as her hair tickled his face. The beating of her heart synced with his. Soft fingertips brushed over his new wounds.

"Are you fighting again?" her voice was all he could hear.

"Yes."

"Who for?"

"Myself."

She giggled, "You're a terrible liar, Runt Braun. You never fight for yourself. Who then? Kiera? Old Gran? The whole district, perhaps? Or is it just Augustus? He's not the small child I knew anymore."

"He's changed." Said Runt, "We all have."

"But not me. I remain as fixed as the stars to you."

"Risa…I'm afraid."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But everyone is looking up to me now. The whole district. How can they follow me when I don't even know the way? When I hesitate every step?"

"You're right to be afraid, Runt. It means you're not stupid despite your best efforts." She laughed again, "Besides, with all those people following behind even if you do slip and fall, they will be there to catch you."

Runt squeezed her closer and found that she was gone. He opened his eyes and blinked away the tears that had gathered. Sitting up, Runt turned and gazed out over the tops to one building in particular. The one with a hole in its attic roof. His eyes held there before moving past to the Spine's cliff face and even further beyond that where the clouds blotted out the stars.

* * *

Clementine flipped through the book in his hands. A gift from a long time ago. A children's book of fairy tales. He'd never seen it's like anywhere else. Not in all the searching he's done over the years. If a similar copy existed out there then it was hidden away. Clementine glazed over the illustrations. Images he knew by heart and could even replicate though not with as much skill. Of all the fanciful tales the book contained there was one minor detail that stood out the most. Something he never took special note of as a child. Here in this book the moon was depicted as full. A whole sphere unlike the shattered one that now loomed in the sky. Of all the wondrous stories to puzzle over, the full moon was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But it begged the question. Was it just make believe? Or perhaps when this book was written it was a time before the shattering? In that case, how old is the book?

Such questions scratched at the inside of his skull. Still he questioned the veracity of a blind old woman. His beliefs were day and night, constantly changing. The child inside warred against the pessimistic mind birthed from the flames. The compromise between the two gave rise to something sardonic.

" _If the legends were true then why is the world so dark?"_ Such were the questions the child would ask.

" _Because the legends are true that the world is dark."_ Was often the reply from the pit in his gut.

Clementine closed the archaic book and placed it beneath the floorboards with the rest of his most precious collection. The house had finally stopped leaking. Without the dripping the house felt hollow. Clementine left his room. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom across the hall. It was dark inside. Too dark to even see the bed, yet he imagined the room all the same. He spent many nights sneaking in here to make sure Risa was still sleeping. Clementine let the fond memories lead him to the attic.

At night the Mud District was a flickering candle compared to the flashing lights of the Flower District in the distance. That place never slept. Clementine sat at the mouth of the blown-out attic, his feet dangling over the edge. Even with the minimal light he could still get a good look at the whole Mud District. From the main parts where people slept to the more abandoned sections of the district swallowed up by the mud itself. Most notable of all were the streets of black charred wood. The fire left its scars like any other wound.

He remembered being carried back from the Buffer to find the district engulfed in a dome of smoke. Those memories were vivid as if they happened yesterday. Blind Shan had left him in the care of the district. In bed with so many other injured. He tried to crawl away to search for Risa. They had to tie him down to prevent him from hurting himself. During that pain blurred week Clementine saw him. Runt Braun, the nightmare of his youth, curled up in a ball on a bed a few rows down. Burns scarred his body in several places. Two strangers, one faunus and one human, tended to the giant's wounds. Their soot stained faces were masks hiding tears.

Clementine stared out past the billowing factories of the Craft District and for a moment he thought someone was watching him, but the feeling passed. All at once the sight became too much to bare. He rubbed at his eyes. The slight bump that formed his facial scar still felt unfamiliar to him. He was unused to it. Even his leg throbbed from a ghostly pain years past. They were all fresh wounds to Clementine. Ones that left scars that weren't so visible. Inside him came a pulse, but not from his heart. No, from the pit in his gut. That thing that has dwelled inside him for so long now. Dark and deep like the tunnel where it was nourished. With the sunrise breaching the horizon it grew hungry.


	7. Chapter 6

With the sun's arrival came another humid summer day. Commander Webb sweated pools in his uniform. Despite his patrol duties Webb opted to take a seat in the shade of one of the many warehouses. His fellow City Guard shot him spiteful looks as they passed. Envy burned like a fever in their eyes, but none spoke out against him. Webb slurped his water canteen, which really contained a strong alcohol, and laughed. In the years since being stationed at the Buffer he's become this pseudo-district's lead dog. What he initially thought of as a demotion revealed itself to be a blessing in disguise. Things were more comfortable in the Buffer. No rich merchants to suck up to. No clueless tourist to give directions to. And best of all no higher ranking officer to report to. The Buffer was mostly made up of recruits and fellow Guard who pissed off the higher ups just like he did. As the senior officer among them he quickly gained the rank of Commander over this sorry lot. His only duty was to write up a weekly report, something he had the recruits do for him.

Webb laughed at his own genius and took another swig of his canteen. By noon he was good and tipsy, which made it hard to discern whether the shadow emerging on the horizon was a hallucination or not. It wasn't a great span of distance away, but his drunken state made it seem that way. He watched the shadow grow closer and take shape without as much as a care in the world. It was all in his head after all. Or so he thought. Webb only considered doubt when other guardsmen reacted to it. One of the recruits under his command sprinted to him.

"Uhhh, Sir…we got a problem."

"What's going on out there?"

"People from the Mud District. A whole lot of them. They're marching this way."

The Commander got to his feet, an effort that left him heavy with breath. "What are you idiots doing? Form a line and block them off! None of them pass!"

"Sir, I think we should call for reinforcements."

"Are you in charge here?" The recruit lowered his gaze and shook his head. "That's what I thought. We don't need any help tossing pigs back in their mud pen. Now go, see to it that my orders are carried out! Any failure in their design will be on your head!" The recruit dashed away.

Commander Webb swayed before falling back onto his seat in the shade. All the screaming left him lightheaded. With a sigh he unscrewed the lid of his canteen and took another swig.

* * *

Runt marched several strides in front of everyone else. It was important for everyone to see him. Clementine stressed that several times. One foot in front of the other. That's what his whole life boiled down to in this moment. He could not falter, not with those behind watching him. Every able bodied soul had gathered for this march. More than half of the district. The cadence of their footsteps carried Runt forward.

They crossed the threshold into the Buffer's middle lane, the place where mud turned to paved stones. The cobbled street simmered beneath his thin-soled shoes, baking in the day's heat. Already the City Guard appeared panicked. They rushed about unsure what to do. Runt didn't slow his pace. The less time they had to organize themselves the better. Unfortunately, they managed to form a blockade up ahead. A line of guards stretched as wide as the ranks behind Runt, but nowhere near as deep. They each held a nightstick in their hands and a pistol holstered at their side.

Runt came to a stop ten feet from the line of City Guard. Without even saying a word the rest of the Mud District fell in behind him. Runt surveyed the row of faces blocking the lane. Behind their visor helmets drops of fear trickled down their brows. Many amongst them were young adults. Recruits judging by their slightly different uniform.

Runt steeled his voice, "We have come to answer crimes made against us. Crimes inflicted by your superiors. We have no quarrel with any of you. Leave now and there will be no need for violence."

The blockade shifted uneasily. Each man and woman glancing to their fellow guard at their sides. Confusion rode the wind of their words. It was clear to Runt that they had no idea what was going on. He pitied them. For a moment, there was nothing but their incoherent whispering before one voice spoke out amongst the rest.

"You think you can intimidate us?" A rather overweight guardsman shoved his way through the ranks. "We are the law here!" He staggered forward so that he positioned himself directly in front of Runt. "No one passes. Not unless you wish to leave the city, in which case we'll gladly be rid of you." The drink was pungent on the tiny man's breath. Runt recognized the smell all too well. The fool still held the open canteen in his hand, its contents swishing inside with every drunken sway. If the insignia on his uniform was what Runt thought it was then this drunkard was the commanding officer of the Buffer.

"You're drunk." Stated Runt, "Go home."

"I ain't nearly drunk enough to let any of you brown foots into _my_ city."

"Your city?" Clementine stepped forward till he stood at Runt's side. "We have as much claim to it as any. Who are you to deny us? Just a drunken fool who's uniform can barely contain him. Yet you're in charge of our safety? Our lives? You're better at beating children than protecting them."

The drunk commander blanched upon seeing Clementine. His hand absentmindedly sagged and the contents of his canteen spilled out onto the street. The recognition, Runt saw, went both ways. Clementine smiled at the commander, a threat as cold and plain as the unsheathing of a dagger. His horseshoe shaped scar around his eye paled bone white in the bright sun. _Clementine, don't tell me this is the one..._

The Guardsman backed away straight into his own men who lurched and had to catch their commander before he fell. It took three men to hoist the drunk back to his feet. Embarrassment boiled his face red and beating like a crab. His chubby cheeks quavered with anger and he drew his pistol.

Runt moved to intercept but he was too slow, caught off guard as he were by the deeply personal confrontation. The gun blast hammered into Clementine's chest, sending him spinning backwards. He fell to the ground, his body disappearing in the swelling surge of the Mud District.

* * *

Naz was the first of the frontline to charge. He never much liked Clementine what with his smart mouth and smug smirk, but he was one of them now. Whatever that meant. Brothers in arms? Siblings to the same cause? Above anything, Clementine was an acquaintance of Runt Braun. A man Naz had come to respect above all others. A man who had placed his hand on Naz's shoulder and in that moment shared his depthless strength.

The Mudslingers comprised most of the vanguard. Each and every one of them owed a debt and they were desperate to see it paid. They collided with the line of guards. Wooden clubs clashed against nightsticks. Neither side broke. The fight swelled, clogging the lane like a blood clot. There was no room to gain any sort of momentum. They were all pressed together, shoulder to shoulder. Two walls pushing against each other. Naz swung his club, batting aside nightsticks that lashed out like wasps. With a grunt, he brought the club down on top of a guard's helmet, snapping the wooden stick in half. The woman crumpled like a sack of potatoes, which would've been far more amusing if he didn't just lose his weapon for it. As soon as the guard fell another took her place.

A stray nightstick caught a lucky blow to his nose. It had just begun to heal too, but now it gushed blood once more. Naz grabbed the hand responsible and pulled him in close. His thick skull thwacked against the guard's helm. Naz headbutted again then again. After the third headbutt the jostled guard toppled to the ground. Naz stumbled, almost falling himself. His vison blurred until he was seeing double. Ahead of him, he caught sight of Runt Braun's broad back. Seeing the giant so isolated from the rest he plunged deeper into the enemy line. His mother had always said he was part ox. Thick of muscle and thick of wits. _This is for you ma!_

Naz bulldozed through several guards before slowing to a stop. They clung to him, forcing Naz to one knee. One of the guards managed to work his nightstick around Naz's throat. Choking, Naz reeled back. He flailed and spun about, but the guard stubbornly held on and if anything increased his pressure. But when it came to stubbornness the guard was wholly out matched. Naz refused to fall. He jumped into the air using his weight to throw the guard off balance. Gravity did the rest. Naz fell onto his back with the guard beneath him. The mustached man gasped for air and Naz drove his elbow into the guard's face with a satisfying crunch. He stood, rubbing his throat.

The Buffer was in full panic. There were more guards than originally anticipated. Stragglers from other lanes came pouring in through alleys. Each and every one of them went for the first and largest target they saw. Runt Braun dispatched them with seemingly little effort. He swatted away their weapons and slapped them about, never even closing his hand into a fist. Still, their numbers swarmed and piled on top of the larger man, weighing him down. Runt was no longer visible in that tangle of bodies. The dogpile was like a stitched together heart that contracted and exploded apart in one eruptive beat. Guards went flying every which way, some even landing on warehouse roofs.

The raw power behind it buffeted Naz like a shock wave. He stumbled and fell on his ass. The City Guard were fleeing for the Craft District. Their flight messy and staggered. In their wake, there might have been a roar of victory loosed from the throats of those behind him. If there were any, Naz didn't hear them. He and his Mudslingers stared up in silence. Awed by the sheer strength of one man.

* * *

Buckets knelt on the warehouse rooftop, watching the scene play out from above. The two forces came to a standstill a mere ten paces apart. Buckets recognized the man dressed in the Commander's uniform. The very same senior officer from six years ago. The fool looked drunk. How he even attained that rank was beyond Buckets' comprehension. When Clementine moved up alongside Runt, the Commander turned white as churned milk. Dumbstruck fear twisted into startled rage.

That gunshot would have killed any normal person. Somehow Buckets knew Clementine would be fine. He was more capable than he let on. A simple aura could block the shot, but maybe not the stampeding riot immediately following it. Idiots could very well have killed him in their rush to avenge him. Though one can't expect much thought process from an enraged mob, especially one with Naz at its forefront. Sned's former gang of criminals and misfits did the majority of the fighting. More brawlers than soldiers, but they did what they do best. Naz was the most enthusiastic of the bunch. He was either desperate to prove himself or to catch up with Runt who had brushed through the enemy line as if they were no more than cobwebs. Knowing Naz, probably both.

For lack of a better description the street became a clusterfuck. A mass of bodies locked jaws with each other like starved wolves. Kiera popped up out of the press. As nimble as if she were wholly panther. She leapt from people's shoulders, crossing the distance to where the fighting was open enough for her to move. Buckets sighed. There was no satisfaction to any of this. Here he was just watching his friends fight each other. The old and the new. He could not participate. He hadn't the heart. As expected the Mud District beat back the guards. There was never any real doubt in Buckets' mind. The City Guard stationed at the Buffer were equipped only to handle a gang of thieves trying to sneak into the city, not a full-on assault by an entire district.

Buckets flinched when the group that had piled on top of Runt exploded into the air. One of the unlucky guards flew over his head and tumbled across the roof. Buckets stared in wonder as Runt simply brushed the dirt off his shoulder. There was a power behind him and not just the raw physical strength, which he always possessed. Despite his obvious strength, Runt was not a man of action. The events of the fire had left the large man broken. Buckets saw it in the pits of his eyes every time he stumbled into Coll's inn for another night of numb drunkenness. Runt had been starved of the pleasures of life leaving his face seemingly gaunt. Even his work as a carpenter brought him no joy or fulfillment, despite the praise of his skills from others. Buckets suspected his only reason in his work was to simply keep himself busy.

Looking down on Runt now, Buckets knew that those days were passed. Runt had been awakened to himself. The truth behind the fire had nothing to do with it either. In fact, such a revelation looked to have haunted Runt further. It was only when he went off deep into the Mud District with Clementine did he return anew. Whatever bond the two now shared returned them both from their self-isolations and Buckets for one was glad for it.

With Runt untethered from his own past sorrows he stood unrivaled. A beacon of power and hope that the rest of the District looked up to. The City Guard had no one capable of stopping that man. Despite this fact Buckets couldn't shake this feeling. This unrest. Like they had just bitten off more than they could chew.

* * *

In the midst of the stampede Clementine managed to not get trampled, which was an achievement in of itself. Had he remained on the ground he might have been killed by the very people who so eagerly charged in for his sake.

It was hard to pin point the exact moment where they gained the upper hand. Though Runt sending more than ten men flying through the air marked the start of the City Guard's retreat. Those that were left standing threw down their weapons and fled the Buffer with much haste. Just like that the fight was over. Clementine walked the street, carefully stepping over the wounded. There were many on both sides. Men and women. Young and old. Clementine spared a small sliver of pity for the City Guard. They were, after all, just doing their jobs. He did not wish what happened upon any of them. All expect one.

Clementine found him in the back, trampled by his fellow guard in their hasty retreat. He stood over Commander Webb, watching as the man stirred awake. Wasn't he just that? A man. Clementine once thought him a demon. In those pain addled nights after the fire he'd conjure the Guardsman in his head. With each passing day, the image grew more monstrous with the addition of fangs, claws, and red eyes of Grimm. Looking down at him now, Clementine new the truth. He was a portly man with a drooping face and eyes so close together he appeared somewhat cross-eyed.

Clementine glanced around. No one paid him any sort of attention. They were too busy picking themselves back up. He waited for Webb's eyes to meet his before bringing his right foot down on the man's gullet. Webb tried to push the foot off, but his attempts were feeble. A pink tongue darted in and out of his gaping mouth. His eyes bulged as if popping out of his skull. From his throat came a less than human croaking sound. Clementine leaned over his leg, applying more pressure. Webb squirmed beneath him like a turtle pinned onto its back. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. _Not long now._

"Clementine!" Runt was upon him before he could even look up. With one arm he snatched Clementine away, tossing him back several feet. The conflict drew the attention of ragged beaten faces. The wet eyed tears of victory paused in the face Runt and Clementine's scuffle. They were watching, unsure and puzzled. The window had passed. Hissing under his breathe Clementine, addressed the wheezing commander behind Runt.

"Tell your superiors what happened here today. Tell them that they can collect their wounded, but after that none of you are allowed here again. The Buffer and everything in it now belongs to us."

Commander Webb crawled away, whimpering. He struggled to his feet before sprinting from the Buffer as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast. Everyone watched him go, laughing as he tripped and fell in his escape. That at least eased some of the tension. Clementine stalked towards Runt, stopping as they brushed shoulders.

"It isn't over." He whispered so only Runt could hear, "This is just the beginning."

Runt grabbed Clementine's arm. "He was your red X, wasn't he? On your map. All this…Tell me it wasn't just for you to exact revenge on that drunk."

Clementine wouldn't meet Runt's eye. He knew the giant would see the truth in them. There was no hiding it. He refused to.

Runt's grip tightened, "Tell me."

"Let go." Whispered Clementine, "Before you cause a scene I just gave up so much to prevent." As soon as the grip loosened Clementine wrenched his arm free.

* * *

Whatever Clementine said rocked Runt. The younger boy left the giant standing there with a horrified expression. Kiera approached with cautioned steps.

"What was that about?" she asked.

Runt eyed Clementine's back as he strode off. "How are we?"

"Well, no one died. So better than expected. The Mudslingers took the brunt of the beatings and coincidently dulled out the most as well." Kiera reexamined the Buffer lane. "What are we going to do about the wounded guard?"

"We'll tend to them for now. At least until someone comes to retrieve them."

"I'm not sure the others will agree."

"I don't care. See that its done."

Kiera turned to regard the street behind her, "Looks like they're working it out themselves."

The wounded had split up, Mud District on one side of the street with the remaining City Guard on the other. The injuries varied from bloodied noses to broken bones and cracked ribs. The two sides didn't interact with the exception of Buckets who helped carry in an unconscious guard.

"What's _he_ doing?" asked Naz when he saw Buckets. The brute's nose was broken all over again leaving his mouth and chin dyed red. Clementine stood nearby with a hole in his threadbare shirt but not a scratch on him. He was staring off into space before turning in response to Naz's question.

"What does it look like?" asked Clementine.

"It looks like he is helping the enemy."

"Yeah…helping them leave. Or do you want them to stay?"

Naz shot Clementine a look, "I liked it better when I thought you were dead."

"Don't sound so disappointed."

Naz's smile was a nasty gap-toothed thing smeared in blood. "How can I be disappointed? The day is ours. We've won."

Clementine nodded, "Now it's time to collect our prize. When your men are ready start raiding the warehouses."

"We're way ahead of you" He jerked a thumb at the warehouse next to them. "It's locked up nice and tight. They all are, but I already got our best lock picks on the job."

Kiera snorted, "Picking? Thought you guys would just bust the door down using someone else's head as a battering ram."

"You volunteering?"

Kiera smirked and started walking across the street. "Not at all. Let me know when you get through."

"You're not the boss of me."

"No, but you'll do it anyway." As she approached the other side many of the injured guard turned from her regard. Defeat weighed on them like a heavy cloak. Their wounded egos and injured bodies made the youthful recruits indignant. However, fear stifled their prideful wrath. Most of them glared at Runt unable to comprehend the man's strength. Some Kiera saw had their eyes on someone else.

"That kid should be dead." Whispered one of the guards who stared at Clementine. "A shot like that…point blank range-"

Buckets fixed a makeshift splint into place causing the man to grimace. "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

Kiera motioned him closer, "How are they holding up?"

"They'll live, despite themselves. You shamed them in this defeat. Guarantee they won't remain employed in the City Guard after this."

"Perhaps that's for the best."

He didn't respond to that but his eyes revealed more than any words could tell. They held nothing back. Not from her. Kiera took him by the arm and guided Buckets out of earshot from the injured guard. "I'm sorry. I know this is difficult for you. You're the only one to have friends on both sides of the battle."

"That said, it scares me to think..." his voice drifted, "I could have easily been one of them. Standing in rank against you."

"Be thankful that you're not." Kiera found some shade in an alley between two warehouses, away from the chaos of the street. She sat down and tugged on Buckets hand to join her. When he took his place next to her she continued. "The other day…that was fucked up of me. You didn't deserve that."

"It was bound to happen eventually." shrugged Buckets, "We were foolish to think otherwise."

"We never talked about our pasts with each other. Why is that you think?"

"I found you and you found me. Nothing before that seemed to matter and with everything going on at the time there was little chance to focus on anything but the present. Afterwards, when things settled, I think we just grew used to each other. We've already been through so much by then. What was left to learn by diving into a painful past?"

"What makes you think it's painful?" asked Kiera, her throat dry.

"Just a feeling."

"Bullshit."

He winced, "Not long after the fire, when the district still smoldered, you and I were walking through the wreckage. Surrounded by destruction, which happened to be the only place we could find solace from the grieving atmosphere. Their sorrow choked us more than the lingering smoke. Yet, despite the ruin you wore this face. Like you've seen it all before. Was I right?"

Kiera turned away, shocked by the accuracy of his perception. "You weren't wrong."

Silence filled the gap that followed. They watched the remaining City Guard pick themselves up. Those who couldn't walk leaned on the shoulder next to them. With painstaking steps, they limped away. The small party of wounded disappeared into the Craft District. Those of the Mud District who remained in the Buffer watched the guard's exodus with a somber expression. When they were gone, Buckets spoke.

"I was born to a prominent family in Atlas. My father was a powerful person deeply involved in the Atlesian military. As his eldest son, I was also his pet project and subsequently his disappointment. When I could, I left. Fled all the way to Mistral just to put as much distance between myself and him. I signed up to become a Ranger because I wanted to be a part of something I could be proud of and the Rangers had that reputation. However, my training and induction into Refuge's Ranger Division was cut short."

"What did your father do that made you run so far?" asked Kiera. When she saw the pain fill his eyes she backpedaled, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. We don't need to know everything about who we were as long as we know who we are now."

"It's alright," he said, blinking the pain away. "I want you to know. My father tried to turn me into something I'm not. My training started the moment I took my first step. He wasn't interested in raising a son as much as he was in honing a weapon. You can laugh if you like. I know I don't look like much to you. My pacifistic nature makes people think I'm a coward and perhaps I am. I'll happily be a coward every day of the year if it meant I didn't have to fight anymore."

His words stunned her. "You can fight?"

He nodded, "I'm not like you though. I don't enjoy fighting."

"But you're good?"

Buckets smiled at that. The same carefree smile she'd seen before a thousand times, yet this one was different somehow. The humor in that smile didn't reach his eyes. Buckets turned to examine the sky as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "When I was sixteen my father had an argument with a close family friend on whether his training methods were superior than that of the Academy. When the argument became a heated debate, they decided to settle things for good. A trial to prove the point. They put me in a ring with the Academy's top student, James Ironwood…an old friend of mine back when we were snot nosed kids. They forced us to fight and hurt each other just to win an argument. Well, my father won the argument and I lost any sense of who I was. After that I knew I couldn't stay."

Kiera remained quiet for a moment, considering all that Buckets said. "I'm sorry, but your father sounds like a real dick."

Buckets broke into genuine laughter, "Yeah…that he is."

"I never knew my parents. I don't know if they're dead or what. From what I know I was born in Menagerie. When I was still a baby I was taken along with a handful of others. Shipped over to Mistral to be sold. My oldest memories are ones spent in cages on a rocking boat in an ocean's tempest. I grew up wearing chains believing no other life existed uncollared." Her words hurt him as she knew they would. "Now you understand why I was never too eager to discuss my past with you or anyone for that matter." She held out a hand to an imaginary person in front of her, "Hi, my name is Kiera and I was once a child slave." Her outstretched hand turned into a fist and she pounded her thigh. "No one wants that on their minds when talking with you."

"Kiera…I'm so sorry." His hand moved towards her, reaching out uncertainly.

She flicked him in the forehead. "Enough. I am not telling you this for your pity. Yes, I was once a slave. But I escaped. eight years old and alone in the wild. Now maybe it's the faunus in me, but living in such a state of being was euphoric. I danced with the wind, hunted alongside the wolves, and slept in my own den. Before long I ran on all fours and was quicker for it. I inserted myself into the food chain and climbed each rung until I was at the top. Never in my life have I tasted such a freedom, before or since."

"You adapt to survive and struggle until you thrive." Buckets recited the words like a poem. "Something a tutor of mine once told me."

"Your tutor was right. But the freedom of an animal is different from the definition of freedom society has fashioned for themselves. They mistake comfort and security as liberties of the free. This is not the case. Freedom…true freedom is wild. I imagine the prospect of that to be scary to most people and it is…Every day you live and breathe as if it were your last. But in such a life no day is unlived."

Kiera found him studying her. She froze like a deer spotted by prey. This was the moment she feared. Revealing her most vulnerable self meant opening their relationship to change. Would he look at her any different? That's what it all boiled down to. Would he stare at her with pity? Or perhaps unease? She found neither in his soft brown eyes. The sight of it took her breathe away and when he smiled she smiled along with him.

"So, you grew up alone in the woods?" laughed Buckets, "How come that doesn't surprise me in the least?"

She playfully punched his shoulder, "Nothing lasts forever. Eventually the hunters came and their dark presence drew the Grimm. Soon enough I was driven from the forest I called home. Forced to flee or die. I traveled a road, hungry and alone until finally I couldn't take another step. I collapsed and when I came too there was a girl standing over me. At first, I was frightened. Humans were a danger and I was too weak to defend myself. However, this little girl offered me an apple with a smile. You can imagine my surprise. She led me back to her farm where her and her father lived. They took me in. Treated me as if I were one of their own. My first taste of a real family."

"Where are they now?"

"That old Sap is still there I imagine. At the farm. I write letters to him every week though I've yet to find any reliable means of sending them. I came to Refuge in search of his daughter…my sister. I wanted to join her on her adventures. She refused me. Said it was too dangerous. But I chased after her anyway. Trail ran cold here. I spent days trying to pick it back up again. Was just about to return home when I saw the fire rising over the rooftops."

"After it was over, when the fire was doused and the district safe…What made you stay?"

She met his eyes, "What made you?"

Buckets grinned at her for they both knew their answers were identical. "Thank you for telling me. I am honored that you let me understand you even better." She could hear the humbled pleasure in his voice. Joy flushed her face and for the first time she had no idea what to say. All at once Kiera realized how tired she was. Exhausted, she sagged against Buckets who leaned against her in turn. The commotion out on the street dwindled into a small buzz and even that faded. Her eyelids slowly closed. When she opened them next, it was dark. Naz stood in the alley mouth, kicking at Buckets' feet. Something soured the Mudslingers expression or perhaps that was his usual grumpy face.

"Get up." Said Naz, "Clementine wants you both inside."

The Buffer had cleared. Only a handful remained and those who did were all Mudslingers. They patrolled in pairs very much like the guard they had kicked out. Only difference being is that they now faced the opposite way.

"Where'd everyone go?" asked Kiera.

"Home. Where do you think? There's work needs doing and we can't sleep all day."

"How come no one woke us sooner?"

"Braun said to leave you be." Explained Naz, "But not anymore so get up."

Buckets groaned awake, "What got you in such a pissy mood?"

Naz pointed towards the warehouse across the street, "Go inside and find out."


	8. Chapter 7

The Citadel towered above all other buildings in Refuge. Not as wide or bulky as the Vulcan Industries workshops, but it stood taller by far, like a sword erected right in the center of the Administration District. During the right time of day its shadow could stretch all the way to the Buffer. At the top floor resided the councilor's office. Seemed only right for the overseer of the city could look down on the city itself in all its glory.

Exquisite art bedecked the office, well-fitting a man of Colton Moss' wealth though his tastes were so wide ranging they could be said to be random. There were sculptures from Atlas, paintings from Mistral, gemstones from Vacuo, plus flowers and drapery from Vale. The gaudy room looked as if all four kingdoms threw up in it. A museum of miscellaneous baubles. None served any functional purpose. Not even the gem embedded dagger that was displayed on the councilor's desk. The blade hadn't even tasted paper much less blood.

Sunset dyed the sky a crimson orange. The light shined through the office's large windows, spackling the room in its warm glow. Councilor Moss paced around his desk, outlining an illusionary box he no doubt imagined himself trapped in. This preoccupied him for almost an hour. Ira Glass lounged on a guest chair before the desk, drawing on her pipe. She could've stopped his manic pacing at any time by uttering a single word, but she was content to let the man ware himself out.

Councilor Moss stopped behind his desk and slammed both hands down. "You said you would take care of it!"

"And I will." she blew out fumes and watched them float to the ceiling.

"You find this amusing do you? They rioted against us. Drove out the entire garrison and claimed the Buffer for themselves! And here you sit. Not a care in the world. What have you done besides suck on that pipe?"

"I've taken precautions." She replied.

"Precautions? City Guard fled from the Buffer battered and bruised. During tourist season, no less!" Moss squeezed his head between his hands. "People are already beginning to talk. I'm getting asked questions that I don't know how to answer."

"That's all it is…talk. It was an oddity for one day. The people's interest will wane and so will the questions. No one cares for long."

"We need to do something."

Glass leaned forward in her chair. "When a pest flies in your face, you don't swat at it. You wait. Let it settle on your skin. When it thinks it's about to suck you dry…" She slapped the table, knocking over its decorations and startling the councilor. "Patience is paramount. I'm having that oaf, Webb, along with his guard from the Buffer questioned as we speak. Mr. Teal has assured me that by tomorrow morning, no one will even remember why they even cared. For now, just smile and feign ignorance. Shouldn't be too hard for you."

* * *

Clementine stood in the middle of the warehouse surrounded by nothing but air. He had been there for hours, thinking. His concerns floated all around him, invisible until he shone a light on them. Like dust in sunbeams. Runt on the other hand had gone from warehouse to warehouse, verifying all that was reported. He returned more than dismayed. Not long after his return Buckets and Kiera arrived. Their footsteps echoed throughout the empty warehouse.

"You cleared it out already?" asked Buckets with unwavering optimism.

"We found it this way." Said Runt, the somber in his voice enough even to give Buckets pause.

Kiera's jaw dropped, "As in empty?"

"We checked them all, but had no luck." Clementine found it hard to look at them. The defeat drained the energy from their faces. This was his plan. He talked them all into it. They fought for this and achieved nothing but vacant warehouses. "It would appear we have been anticipated. Naz sent some of his more discreet Mudslingers into the Craft District to ask around. According to the workers, they've been secretly emptying out the warehouses every night for days now."

Kiera growled in frustration, "We took too long. Gave them too much time to prepare. We should've attacked from the second Sned confessed."

"How would they even know we would come?" asked Buckets.

Clementine had considered that already. "They must've caught Sned before he could get through the Buffer."

Runt pounded his fist into the warehouse wall, leaving a dent the size of Clementine's head. "You never should've let him go!"

"What? Should I have let you murder him in front of everybody?"

"Unlike you, huh? I saw your face. Don't deny it. You were going to kill that commander in cold blood."

"I'm not denying it." said Clementine, unperturbed by the vehemence of Runt's voice, "Yes, he was the X on my map. I've tracked his movements, learned his name, where he lived, where he ate, what he liked to do in his free time. Finally, I got my chance. I could've ended Webb then and there. No one would've noticed if you didn't make a scene. His death would've been an unforeseen accident. One that wouldn't infect anyone else with any feelings of guilt or doubt."

"How can you say that?"

"Webb took away my only chance to save my sister. He deserved to die."

"You wouldn't have stood a chance to begin with!"

Clementine faltered, his retort stuck in his throat. Runt's admission wretched with more emotion than Clementine understood. It shook him to his core. Before either could say another word, Buckets moved between the two of them.

"Enough!" he cried, "I did _not_ watch my friends fight each other earlier just to see the same thing happen again. The situation is as it is. There's no changing that. We have the Buffer, but not the supplies we hoped. We've lost some leverage there, but we will deal with it. The important thing now is holding on to what we got."

Runt backed off and hid his face in one large hand. "I'm sorry." He muffled through his palm. Runt peered at Clementine through the gaps in-between his fingers. Even then Clementine could still spot it. That look Runt always cast his way. There was something between them for a long time now, but Clementine had no clue what. The man loathed the sight of him. As if simply glancing his way was painful.

"I'm sorry." Runt fled the warehouse even as he spoke those words.

Clementine thought about going after him, but his body refused to move. He had been locked in place. His thoughts surrounded him, clouding his mind. Too much to comprehend.

"Buckets is right." voiced Kiera, breaking the silence that followed Runt's flight. "We've got to prepare."

Clementine struggled to get his tongue moving once again. "The Mudslingers have volunteered to be our first line of defense. They've taken up residence in the barracks here. I've set them up with strict patrols and posts to keep watch over day and night. We should expect some kind of retaliation soon and the Buffer will be the first thing they hit."

"How can we trust the Mudslingers?"

Buckets looked offended by Kiera's doubt. "Have they not proven themselves already?"

"Sure, they may be on our side but they can be just as dangerous to us. What if they decide to get a little payback? Maybe loot a few workshops in the Craft District or jump some guard on patrol? They could make things far worse than they already are."

"Kiera's right." Agreed Clementine, "Why do you think I failed to name Colton Moss as our enemy? Didn't want to give them a target. And without Runt there to maintain discipline…"

"Naz will take care of things." Said Buckets. When both Clementine and Kiera gave him dubious looks he continued. "Don't underestimate him. Even without Runt there he will do what needs to be done."

Clementine hesitated a moment before nodding his approval and taking his leave. He hurried out, his mind racing. What Runt said repeated in his mind over and over. _Never stood a chance. Never stood a chance._

* * *

Clementine left them, somehow making the empty warehouse feel even more hollow. "Those two…" drawled Kiera, "Keep too much to themselves."

"Are we any different? Was only hours ago when we even broached our own pasts." Buckets sighed and stared at the floor. "It's been a trying day. Hasn't it? But, despite the setbacks it's been a successful day. Why don't we celebrate?"

"What about the Buffer?"

"I wouldn't stress over it. The Mudslingers can handle themselves. Not like there will be any trouble. Not this quickly, anyway. Empty warehouses or not, we've struck a blow today. I imagine they'll still be reeling in recovery."

"You really think we can rely on them?"

"I trust Naz." Said Buckets without any hesitation.

"The bully who hardly a week ago assaulted Greenberg's school? Who stole books from children?"

"They're a mean bunch, I'll give you that. But just misguided." He paused to consider a moment, "Most don't choose that life. Its chosen for them by need and desperation. Naz for example…even when he was young he had to work twice as hard as most other boys his age. His mother was sick, you see. He had to fend for them both. If that means ditching Greenberg's classes, then so be it. Thieve and steal from your neighbors? Very well. Anything to survive. I expect you understand that. Survival.

"Naz needed help but was to pigheaded to ask for it. So, he lashed out to take what most would've given him regardless. He fell into the wrong crowd all in an attempt to get more. More for his mother. More for himself. Now imagine the thing that keeps you going, the one person your whole life revolves around. Imagine one day she is taken from you in a great fire."

Kiera's gaze fell to the flat cold floor. She knew Naz's mom perished in the fire, but beyond that she knew little of the Mudslinger and what little she did know came from their brief encounters. Kiera had clashed with Naz more than any other Mudslinger. The brute didn't stand a chance against her and yet he never shied away from a fight. Kiera admired that part of him, stupid as it was. Naz would never run no matter the danger posed against him. He'd just stare it down with that flat faced sneer of his. Despite it being her self-appointed job to watch over the troublemakers of this district it seemed Buckets knew more about them then she did.

"Where did you hear of this?" asked Kiera, curiously.

"You learn a lot, you know…living with a man with no one else to talk to. Coll has told me many stories from the days before we arrived. The time before the fire."

"We're all of them that sad?"

"For the most part." Buckets' smile faded, "Tell me, have you ever heard the tale of the giant and the gardener?"

* * *

Getting past the Buffer was easy. After all, he set up the patrol schedules. Past the Mudslingers Clementine found no City Guard waiting in the Craft District. Too early for that. He imagined Councilman Moss was busy readjusting to the events of the day. Plans were being made, orders given, and pieces moved. The councilor was a smart man to have anticipated their taking of the Buffer. That was troubling. Too many mysteries laid ahead. Clementine had hoped to shed some light on them judging by the contents of the warehouses. His hope was snuffed.

Moving through the Craft District, Clementine slipped into the streets of Refuge. During the day, all it took was a simple glance at his feet to expose him. However, in the cover of night he was just another shadow. He roamed free.

The Flower District was an array of colors. Each building glowed with its own radiance, attracting people like moths to a flame. However, if one were to look at the Flower District with a bird's eye view they'd notice one black spot amongst the radiance. Just one ramshackle of a building as out of place as a stereo in a library. The worn paint that decorated the exterior of the World Theatre was washed out by the rest of the district. Its marquee above the entrance flickered to an end long ago. The only hint that the building was even occupied was the small amount of light coming from the lobby. Clementine skirted around the building, heading towards the back entrance. Two women, stood by the door sharing a smoke and gossip. Stepping out into the light, Clementine approached them.

"You made it!" shouted Merri a bright smile on her face.

Clementine allowed himself a smile, "Not too late I hope?"

"You've made it, but by the skin of your teeth." Monnie flicked away her cigarette and looked Clementine up and down. "This won't do. Merri, go inside and fix him a basin of water to wash this crap off."

"On it." Merri rushed inside.

When she was gone Monnie stepped back. "Heard some rumors today about some sort of conflict brewing in the Buffer."

Clementine shrugged innocently, "I've heard the same thing on my way here."

"I suppose you don't know anything about that, then?"

"What does it matter?" He tried moving past her, but she blocked his way.

"If it affects you, then it matters to us." She brushed hair out of his face, her fingers tracing the scar around his eye. "If anything else were to happen to you...I can't stand the thought. If things are changing-" whatever she was going to say caught in her throat. "I just want you to know, you will always have a place here. With us."

He took her hand and gently pushed it away. "I'll be fine. Monnie, please. There's nothing to worry about. Things are under control."

"Why do I doubt that?"

"Because you know I'm a good liar." Clementine shared a smile with Monnie, "Too many performances."

Monnie chewed her lip in consideration, "Don't talk to Merri about this. She won't understand."

"I'm just here for the concert, Monnie. And to see you of course. Along with Merri and Spool."

"And Adriane?"

"She hates me."

"Ah," she smiled as if she knew the secrets to the universe. "I see why you would think so. What will you be playing then?"

"Whatever we're missing."

"Georgie, our violinist hasn't shown up. He's probably drunk at the brothels again I'd wager."

"Violin will do."

"I'll go fetch a spare. You better hurry and get ready."

"Thanks, Monnie." The two entered the theatre together but split off in different directions.

Only a handful of stagehands scurried about backstage. All the performers were currently on stage. By the sound of it the improv was reaching its end. Clementine hurried, pushing his way through the folds of costume racks. Past them were the dressing rooms. Though in reality they weren't even rooms, just setups for each performer arranged like office cubicles except the walls were sheets hanging on clothes lines. Some even had laundry dangling from the rope. There weren't that many sheet cubicles left. After all these years the number of performers appropriately matched the size of the audience.

Clementine only came to the theatre once a week if at all, this didn't stop him from leaving things here. His space was filled with items he's picked up over the years. Trinkets left behind by past performers. Pieces of costumes that were no longer used. Anything that lost its purpose eventually found itself either pinned to Clementine's mirror or on his dresser. He didn't mind leaving it all here out in the open. Their theft would cause him no harm.

Merri had already lit his lamp, leaving the matches at its base. Perched on his stool was a freshly prepared a tub of water, which he used to rinse his face and hair clean of grime. After that he placed the tub on the floor so he could do the same to his feet. Once finished he quickly dried himself with a towel and began undressing. He balled his shirt and pants and tossed them into the tub, leaving them to soak.

A mannequin's bust displayed the only other outfit he wore. Clementine slipped his arms into the sleeves of a white dress shirt so spotless it could be mistaken for new. He buttoned all but the top three and tucked the shirt into the slacks. Both shirt and pants sleeves were neatly rolled into folds just past the joints. At last he threw on a violet vest. The purple fabric matched the dark shade of his eyes. Patterns of black lace embroidery decorated the hem of the waistcoat. Hearing the footsteps of the performers leaving the stage followed by a measly applause, Clementine turned. He paused upon seeing Adriane just five strides away.

She stood watching him, her manager's clipboard pressed against her hip. "Didn't expect you to show."

"How long were you standing there?"

If anything, Adriane had grown more intimidating over the years. Her face had lost its plump baby fat and had matured into sharp features. Her long golden hair was cut short and fell like limp spikes over her bluish green eyes. She traded in the denim overalls for a deep blue velvet suit. An outfit fitting her new position as stage manager. She pursed her plain lips, "You're requested on stage."

"Better get going then." Adriane didn't move, forcing Clementine to inch around her. As soon as he did he quickly broke into a fast walk. Not looking back. He stopped just offstage where Monnie and Merri were waiting for him with a spare violin.

"It's not in great shape, but at least its properly tuned." said Monnie as she handed him the secondhand instrument. Merri began touching up Clementine's hair, but Monnie slapped her hands away. "There's no time woman, he's beautiful as is. Now go on. Spool's waiting."

The audience had begun murmuring to themselves. The stage light made it hard to spot them, but the voices numbered in the single digits. On stage came the soft sound of shuffling music sheets and rearranging of stands. "Break a leg." Whispered Merri when Clementine stepped onto the stage, taking his place in the first row just in front of the conductor's podium.

The orchestra was riddled with holes. More than half the chairs were empty. They were lucky enough to have just one of each instrument. The conductor, Spool, stood hunched over the podium. His gentle eyes locked with Clementine's. The old man smiled in recognition and held up his hands. Just like that everyone went silent.

* * *

Runt had no destination in mind. He just kept walking. His strides long and fast paced as to not give anyone any impressions that he wished to talk. Had anyone did call out to him, he didn't hear. Like a horse with blinders he shut everything out and kept going forward. He cut a straight line through the Mud District, passing abandoned homes and empty streets each one more unstable than the last. He stopped just an arm's reach away from the Spine. Refuge's natural defense. Nearly as tall as a mountain. It's straight cliff face stretched all around the city, widening out as it went like one half of an oval. Both Refuge and the glades outside its gates were encompassed by the Spine.

This far deep into the Mud District minor sinkholes were as common as a sneeze. The place was more like a swamp. Nothing remained motionless long enough to solidify. Standing still, Runt could feel himself slowly sinking into the mud. Millimeter by millimeter. It's a miracle the Mud District hasn't been swallowed whole yet.

"Who's there?" The sudden voice made Runt jump. He turned to see a bent backed old woman a few steps away. Her face bore deep wrinkles that creased her face like a crunched-up paper bag. What was left of her hair was an ashen gray. Her eyelids were shut and her gaze drifted sightlessly, waiting for a reply. "Well? Answer me, won't you?"

Runt shook himself, "My name is Runt Braun."

"Tysa's Runt? Ha! Thought you were a woman by the sound of your steps. You're light footed for a giant."

"You knew my mother?" asked Runt, his voice suddenly dry.

"Sure. Knew the whole Braun family. How many of you did she have?" she sucked on her finger as she thought. "Five? No, you make six. Six…Haha! I don't know how Tysa managed bringing six of you titans into the world. Just one is a feat in itself, but six?! BueHahaha…Your mother was something else."

Runt studied her more closely. It was a nostalgic face. One in which every feature was begging for recognition. The furrowed brow. The gap ridden teeth. It was the permanently shut eyes that triggered his memory. "Blind Shan…haven't seen you around in years."

"Then who's the blind one, eh?" she hacked a laugh, "From what I've heard you've been out of the loop for some time. Until recently of course. I'm too old for all that drama. It's a young woman's game. Tried convincing Old Gran of that, but the hag won't listen to me. So be it, I said. I'll be the smart one and stay out here where no one can find me."

"But I found you."

"Correction, it was I who found you. So, tell me Runt Braun. What brings you here?"

"I don't know." He admitted.

"Liar. You know. You made the choice to come here of all places." She smacked her split lips with her tongue. "If you're not going to tell me, then at least tell yourself why. Being lost out in the world is one thing." She tapped on her head with one gnarled finger. "Being lost in here is an entirely different state of being. Trust me."

A silence passed between them. Deep down Runt hoped she would just leave but that didn't happen. She stared at him. Right in the face. Those closed eyes seemed to glimpse his soul. He sighed, "How much do you know about what's happening?"

"I'm old, son. Not dead."

"I think we just started a war."

"One you don't think you can win?" she asked.

"I don't know. That's not what bothers me. It's the fact that no one seems to care why. Clementine doesn't. His only answer is to strike back, wait for their reply and plan for the next move as if it were a game. He's orchestrated the whole thing. Propped me up like a beacon. Everyone looks to me now and I can't look back and have them see a face with no answers. I am at the lead, but I am not the leader."

"You and young Clementine, huh? Now there is an odd pair if I do say so myself. There is a knot of hate wrapped tight around that boy's soul. And is it any wonder? You remember, I'm the one who carried him back. You know as well as I what that guard did to him. It's a miracle he was even able to walk again. Whatever conflict you have with him, know that you two look in different directions. Young Clementine looks out into the city, but his sight goes far beyond that. You look inwards leading you directly…here." She placed a hand on the solid rock face of the Spine. "I believe you're drawn to this place, same as I."

"And what reason is that?"

"I'm still unsure. I lack the sensitivities to discern the truth. But perhaps you might fare better." She reached out, taking his arm. Her skin was as soft and delicate as paper. She guided his hand to the cliff face and gently pressed his palm against the rock surface.

"What am I supposed to be looking for?"

She wagged a finger at him. "Don't look when there is nothing to see. Feel it out. Let it see you instead."

Runt chuckled, "You're insane."

"Not at all. Just got lost more than most. But I always find my way back."

Wondering at her meaning, Runt closed his eyes and focused. His semblance had been running out of control all day since the riot. Amplifying unwanted noise, deafening voices. It fluctuated with his growing unease. And yet strangely, in this place with a mad woman, his semblance was honed to a point. As easily as one might lower the volume on the radio Runt dialed back the outside noise to nothing. He narrowed his cone of sound with the origin at his palm. A mud brown glow radiated from his hand, the manifestation of his aura. All he found was silence. Nothing but the still fortitude of rock. Still he searched, groping for meaning in the darkest of places. Nothing but silence. Nothing but-

He flinched back, removing his hand from the rock as if it burned. He stumbled backwards, clasping hands over his ears.

"I don't understand." His own voice sounded strange to him. Distant and alien.

Blind Shan removed her hand from the rock and stared at it. "Neither do I. All I get is tremors vibrating through…Like rats stuck inside a wall."

"It's more than that," he breathed, "Muffled pads of feet. The sharp clang of metal against rock piercing through everything else…" he lowered his hands and stared at the Spine as if seeing it for the first time in his life. "People are burrowing through there."


	9. Chapter 8

A hand shook his shoulder and Clementine flinched awake. Curtained sunlight blinded his groggy eyes. Through blurry vision he could just make out Spool sitting in a chair beside him. They were in a small rectangle of a room. The featherbed beneath him was shabby yet soft. A horde of old props and items decorated the walls. Some even hung from the ceiling, one being an aged kite attached to a spool.

Clementine sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Where am I?"

Spool handed Clementine a cup of warm coffee. "My room in the back of the theatre. Adriane found you passed out in your dressing room after the concert so I brought you here."

Clementine took a sip and lapped the liquid in his mouth. "I fell asleep?"

Spool raised one bushy eyebrow, "You don't remember? Gods, Clementine. When was the last time you slept?"

"Besides just now? A couple days, I think."

"Why?" asked an exasperated Spool.

"I've been busy."

"Yes, I'm aware. Monnie told me."

"Where is she?" Spool's room was vacant besides the two of them. Outside the open bedroom door, which led backstage the theatre was silent. "Where is everyone?"

"I sent them home."

"Oh?" Clementine set the coffee down on Spool's nightstand. "And why's that?"

"Because I have the grave feeling that you're going to ask me something that shouldn't be heard by anyone else."

"You're not wrong." Admitted Clementine with a shrug, "I know you would want to keep matters like these private so I prepared what I wanted to tell you beforehand, in case there were others present."

Clementine slipped out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to Spool. Adjusting his spectacles, the old man unfolded the paper and read. His eyebrows, which still held onto their dark color despite the rest of him giving way to gray, furrowed as he neared the end. Before long he crumpled the message into a ball and threw it across the room where it bounced on his personal desk.

"You're going to be the death of me." Spool sunk in his chair, exhausted. "Dammit, Clementine. You're playing with fire here. These people you're pitting yourself against…they're not to be trifled with. If you continue riling them up, they _will_ kill you."

"You have it the wrong way round." Said Clementine, "We're not the aggressors here, Spool. Everything that happened yesterday was a…reaction. They armed thugs with military grade guns. Six years ago, they started the fire. We are simply defending ourselves."

Spool seemed to age ten years. "They started the fire? But…but that's impossible. It doesn't make any sense."

"Why? Why do you say that? Tell me." He demanded, "I'm not a kid anymore."

Spool fidgeted in his seat, "Things are the way they are. You know that. I've told you as much before. I don't know why. I suspect not many do. But the policy towards the Mud District has always been one of disregard. For whatever reason, the people in power did their best to ignore you. As long as you stayed in your district and didn't cause trouble then there would be no conflict. So, if what you're saying is true, then something has changed. But why?"

"I don't care why. We're well past that point. Do you know how many came to help when the Mud District burned?" Clementine held up two fingers, "One of which was a recruit in the City Guard going against orders to do so. People don't care about us. If one shop in the Trade District catches fire the whole street helps put it out. The Mud District burns and they kick back to roast marshmallows."

"It's not like that." Insisted Spool, "People try to help. There are always those who try and help. But their efforts are constantly redirected. These are powerful people we're talking about. Together, they own the city. It's a small thing to keep a few good Samaritans from the Mud District."

"Who are these people? I've been all over the city. Nothing you told me is any different. I need names."

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know the truth of it. My word would be just as reliable as the pub gossip."

"Spool…I convinced and pushed the Mud District in taking the Buffer. People have fought and bled and yet I have nothing to show for it. Whatever supplies they had hidden there was secreted away beforehand. We've taken the Buffer, sure, but we won't be able to hold it for long. Not without knowing who we're fighting. I've lost my bargaining power so there is nothing stopping them from marching back in guns blazing. Could be happening right now!" Clementine caught his breath, "I won't return to find my home in ruins…Not again. I beg you, please. I'm grasping for straws here. Anything you can tell me that might help."

Spool pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing up his spectacles in the process. "You've grown up too fast, Clementine."

His weary statement left Clementine at a loss for words. Spool swiveled in his chair and stared at a framed picture on his desk. Behind the glass was an image of a young Spool and a woman Clementine didn't recognize. They held a kite and spool of thread between them. The same ones hanging from the ceiling. Spool didn't move. Didn't even blink. It's like he had immersed himself inside the memory of that photo. He stayed that way. For an uncomfortable amount of time.

Finally, Clementine relented, "Who is she?"

"A friend."

"Just a friend?"

"My _best_ friend. You should find yourself one of those."

"I have you and there's Monnie and Merri."

"That's different. We see you, what? Once a week? A best friend is constant companionship. An attachment made from personality and ideals. They are the string that keep you grounded. A kite and its spool. No matter how far away the kite flies or how strained and twisted the string becomes you hold on to each other. You hold on…" Spool squeezed shut his eyes for a long moment as if holding back tears. "There is a man. Used to be a pupil of mine. He has the answers you seek. I'll reach out to him. Though it will take some time."

"Thank you Spool, thank you. I can't tell you how-"

Spool cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Next week there is another concert to celebrate the World Theatre's fiftieth anniversary. I want you to conduct."

Clementine was taken aback by this offer. "Me?"

"I'm old, Clementine. Hands don't respond like they used to. I'm not long for this world. I know that. But after I'm gone, someone needs to take over."

"Monnie and Merri." Clementine offered their names up as if they were the obvious choice.

"They're not nearly serious enough."

"What about Adriane? She's plenty serious. Damn scary even."

"Adriane is a great manager and soon, a producer. I have no doubt she can handle the business side. But she has no stage talent. This place needs an artist at its helm. Someone passionate. Someone who can keep this place alive. Clementine, I want you to be that person. There may not be many of us, but some people need this place. For when they have nowhere else to go. Promise me you'll think about it."

"Of course."

Spool's smile was a pleasant sight, "Good. Now next week is non-negotiable. I want you to conduct the concert. You've had plenty of practice. Did you think I couldn't see you off to the side mimicking me all these years? You'll do fine. The whole band knows and respects you. By the day of the concert I would've heard back from my contact. I can tell you what he says then. Deal?"

The two shook hands. "Deal."

"Your clothes may still be damp." Said Spool, "Would you want to wait until they dry before heading out?

"Actually, if it's all the same with you, I'd like to wear the suit from now on. I promise I'll keep it as clean as it can be."

Spool straightened out Clementine's shirt collar, "Looks better on you than it ever did me. It's yours now, not mine. Wear it as you will."

"I don't know how to thank you enough."

Spool shoved a folder of sheet music into his hands. "Just study the songs and show up on time for once. And try to make a friend."

Clementine grinned, "No promises."

* * *

Adriane waited for Clementine to leave before emerging from the shadows. When Spool sent everyone home, she grew suspicious and waited. Her time it seemed was not wasted. She left her hiding spot outside the room and entered. Spool still sat in his chair at his desk. In his hands, he held a picture.

"It's not polite to eavesdrop." He said without looking away from the photo.

Adriane moved towards the desk and retrieved the tossed crumpled paper. She unfurled it to find nothing but sheet music. She turned it every which way and even held it up to the light. Nothing. Just a song. Handwritten, margin after margin. "I don't understand."

Spool smiled, but it was short-lived. "It was just a game at first. Back when he was still just a kid. Thought he was handing me some music he wanted to try. Took me a while to understand it myself."

Adriane folded the paper and attached it to her clipboard. "You're going to reach out to Roland, aren't you?"

"You shouldn't call him that."

"It's his name. What else should I call him?"

Groaning, Spool pushed himself to his feet. "Getting old." He complained.

"You've always been old. There's a rumor in the theatre that Monnie and Merri steal your youth. That's how they never seem to age. Some say you were born old and just stayed that way."

"It's not nice to tease an old man."

"I know." Her face was empty of any amusement except for the slightest of smiles.

Spool gave her a curious look, "You fancy him, don't you? Clementine."

Adriane didn't say a word. Not a twitch of reaction on her stolid face.

"Ha!" laughed Spool, "No wonder he's scared witless."

* * *

A good amount of City Guard waited for him in the industrious Craft District. Their numbers were doubled by Clementine's count, but they were spread out as to avoid any suspicion. Anything as obvious as a line of defense in the middle of the street would prompt more questions he imagined. They were still setting things up, adjusting to their earlier defeat. Slipping past them was only a matter of timing. The City Guard were expecting another assault from the Buffer, not one person coming from behind.

Still, the sheer amount of them gave Clementine pause. He thought about using his tunnel, but he made two vows. One to stop crawling through the mud and the other to keep the suit clean. So, Clementine decided to bide his time. He waited outside the back entrance of a Vulcan Industries metal works. The orange glow from inside warmed his back.

Clementine observed the guard's movements as he's so often done. He timed how long it took for one patrol to pass another. There were no clear openings. Not very surprising. After all this wasn't some common summer day. No, these guards were on high alert. Their shifts tight, allowing for only the smallest of openings. Clementine tried for it. He walked at a brisk pace. The black gravel ground of the Craft District crunched beneath his bare feet, coating his toes a charcoal shade. The border was only ten feet away. A stone divider separated the gravel and the cobbles. He was almost there.

"Hey!" shouted a guard behind him, "You can't go that way."

Clementine continued forward as if he didn't hear them. The guard and her patrol partner hurried in front of Clementine, blocking him off. Surprisingly, neither brandished their nightsticks or pistols. Instead they looked to him with mildly annoyed expressions as if he were some lost tourist in need of guidance. Clementine instantly found himself in a unique position. They didn't know he was from the Mud District. There were no obvious signs. His feet were covered in soot now, but clear of any mud. He expected that the suit he wore threw them off the most. No one in the Mud District would wear any sort of formal suit. Especially one as clean and stylish as the one Clementine wore.

"What are you deaf?" Asked the guard, a young blonde woman. "You can't go that way."

Her patrol partner, a ginger bearded man looked Clementine up and down with a quizzical expression. Clementine stepped back from them both, giving himself enough room in case things got violent.

"Why can't I pass?"

"Not safe." Said the woman.

"How so?"

She hesitated, "Because, past here we got some construction going on. Dangerous stuff. We got orders to turn around anyone at this point. It's for your own safety. Head home."

"I am."

Clementine's answer left the female guard puzzled. Her partner who didn't seem to be paying any attention was staring at Clementine's naked feet.

"You lose your shoes or something, kid?"

The woman, not as dense as her partner, slowly moved her hand towards the nightstick at her hip.

"Construction." Mused Clementine, "That's cute. Tell me, do you even know why you're not letting anyone pass? I'm asking sincerely. I really want to know."

She gripped the nightstick but didn't move any further. "There was a riot the other day. Some people from the Mud District attacked the City Guard stationed just past here."

"Okay, but do you know why? Has anyone told you the reason a whole district suddenly rose up?" Clementine waited, but when she didn't answer he continued. "It's because we learned the truth. A truth in which you are denied as well by the look of things. Let me enlighten you both. Six years ago, Councilman Colton Moss sent a Dust bomb into the Mud District. It detonated, catching buildings on fire. A fire that consumed the lives of over twenty people. Friends, mothers, sisters, children, all dead as a result. Now just a few days past another attempt was made by your esteemed councilor. He armed violent criminals with guns for no apparent reason other than to help them conduct martial law over the district. They failed and we learned the truth."

Clementine paused, finding himself heavy with breath. He took a moment to compose himself. The two guards were deathly serious. A paleness overtook them both as they listened to his story. The woman glared at him, her face rigid.

"Heard talk from those that were there about some kid. Strawberry blonde hair. Violet eyes. Heard Commander Webb shot him point blank in the chest and yet after the riot they say they saw him walking about."

"You talk to your fellow guard?" Clementine nodded approvingly, "Good. Pass the word along to your friends. You are being lied to. When the time comes and the order is given to retake the Buffer know that we will be fighting for our lives. For justice. You on the other hand will be fighting because you're told to do so by people who don't trust you with the truth."

His words reached them both. He saw that much. What effect it had on them, he could not tell but it was enough to leave them both stunned. Clementine walked between the two guards. Neither tried to stop him. He was past the border without anyone else spotting him. The Mudslingers on patrol almost pounced on him, but they recognized Clementine in the nick of time. Naz gawked at him as if her were some exotic fish that had just heaved itself onto his beach. The older boy looked ready to ask a thousand questions before he clamped his mouth shut and waved Clementine past.

True to their nature the people of the Mud District went about like normal. Old Gran was planting her seeds. Mr. Flood and his wife were stocking their newly renovated shelves in the general store. Greenberg was holding a class lesson outside in the shade. Normal. Clementine doubted that word held any meaning to these people anymore. What was normal to any of them? He certainly wasn't. Clementine's new attire scored him many puzzled looks. It was in those side glances that he spotted it. The tension. It hid itself in the darting gaze of those easily distracted or the nonblinking stares of those consumed by whatever they were doing.

Clementine hurried to the best and only inn the Mud District had. The innkeeper, Coll had a reputation and it was still early morning. Clementine didn't want to unnecessarily disturb the man so he cracked open the front door just enough for him to peek inside. To his surprise, Coll was at one of his tables scribbling something in a ledger. The man's eyes were bloodshot and his hair in ruin. As soon as the light touched him he hissed like a snake and pulled away. Clementine slipped inside and shut the door as quick as possible.

"What do you want, boy?" grumbled Coll.

"Is Runt here?"

"Haven't seen em."

"How about Buckets?"

"He hasn't come down yet so I imagine he's still in bed."

"You mind if I-"

"Go, leave me be." Coll waved Clementine to the stairs.

On the other two floors, all the rooms were closed and vacant except for one on the third floor at the end of the hall. Clementine moved to stand in its doorway. The window was open, explaining the light breeze that cooled the floor. The modestly small room was littered with loose clothing. Buckets was an indistinguishable lump underneath the blankets. Clementine knocked on the door, stirring him awake. The lump sat up and the covers fell away revealing a bare-chested Kiera.

The faunus stretched her arms above her head, "Good morning." She yawned.

Clementine spun on his heels faster than he's ever done before. "You're naked." He stated ever so bluntly.

"Oh, sorry about that." She stood and Clementine heard her rummaging through the room most likely finding her clothes.

"Its fine." Said Clementine, "Just wasn't expecting it."

Her laugh was teasing, "I bet. Okay, you can look if you want."

Clementine pivoted back around. Kiera sat on the small chest at the foot of the bed, tying on her boots. With the exception of a few curly strands her long black hair was tied back with her blue bandana. Clementine kept his eyes off her by studying the room. She seemed to find that funny.

"Have you ever seen a girl before?" she asked.

"I've seen plenty."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

Clementine cocked his head to one side as if he were unimpressed. "Kiera, I spent a large part of my life in a theatre. The people there are very open and…confident. Not unlike yourself."

"Any of them stand out to you?"

The image of Adriane flashed before Clementine's mind. Her stern face hidden behind shoulder length pixie blonde hair that fell over her eyes. He shivered, prompting Kiera to smirk.

"Who did you just think of?"

"No one." He snapped.

Kiera pulled one leg up on the chest so that she could rest he chin on her knee as she studied him. "You know you're pretty, what with the luscious hair and striking eyes. I hope you don't mind me saying that even your scar adds an extra something. As far as your new outfit, which I am only now noticing…"

Clementine brushed a hand down his violet suit vest. "What about it?"

"It suits you. Right now, I'd say you look like the closest thing to royalty I've ever seen. You'd be more popular if you did something about that glum attitude of yours."

"I'm not glum."

"Yes, you are."

"Am not." Declared Clementine, "I'm delightful to be around."

Kiera snorted, "I almost forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"How young you are. Some advice, find some happiness while you're still young."

"You're not that much older than me."

"Thanks."

Clementine waved a hand in front of him as if to stop the conversation that had spiraled so far away from what he originally intended. "Have you seen Runt?" he asked, "Was hoping he'd be here what with his home in a ruin and all that."

Kiera clicked her tongue, "Haven't seen him since he stormed off last night. But word is people saw him heading towards the Spine."

"They seem worried to you?"

"We just revolted against our government, so yeah, they're all appropriately worried. I told them that Runt needed some air and wanted to be left alone. Thing is, I don't think he's come back yet."

"How do you know?"

"I was up late last night."

Clementine rolled his eyes, "Where is Buckets anyway?"

"The roof probably. Performing his…routines. Don't ask." She gestured to the window, "It's an easy climb through there. Do you want me to go find Runt?"

"No, I will. I want you to go around the district and spread the word. We're having a meeting tonight. Everyone's invited."

"A meeting about what?"

"Don't know yet."

"Great plan."

"I'll figure something out and if not, you will. It's as you said everyone is worried right now. It's to be expected. Once the first punch is thrown it can't be taken back."

"You want to ease their minds?" asked Kiera.

"No, they should be worried. I want them worried over the right things though. To survive whatever comes next, we need to be prepared in every sense of the word. Can you do that?"

She nodded, "I have a few ideas."

"Good. Now go. I'll be back with Runt as soon as I can."

"You better." Tail wagging, she set out. With her gone Clementine wormed his way out the bedroom window. The ceiling top was a hand's reach away so it was easy for Clementine to hoist himself up. Unlike many buildings in the Mud District the inn had a flat roof rather than the slanted triangle top. What he saw when he poked his head up baffled him.

Buckets was naked except for a pair of soggy underwear. He outstretched his arms over his head like he was about to embrace the sun. Sweat glistened his tanned skin. Like his lover he had a lithe build, fit and agile. He held his sun praising pose for a few moments before moving into another, then another. Each movement seamlessly flowing into the other as easily as water. Buckets didn't stop when he saw Clementine watching him.

He just smiled and asked, "What can I do you for?"

"Don't you two ever wear clothes?"

"Well this is usually our private time. Consider yourself lucky. Could've been worse than what you're witnessing now."

"Are you dancing?"

"Does it look like a dance to you?"

Clementine paused to further study his nimble movements, "Yes."

"Then it's a dance. I do it every morning for two hours."

"Why on the roof?"

Buckets took a deep breath, holding for a moment before slowly releasing it. "Flat space. Open room. What I like the most is I get to see the district wake up. Watch everyone get ready to go about their routines as I do mine. It's a great way to start the morning." He smiled, "Though I have a feeling you didn't come to talk to me about morning routines."

"In a way, I have. On my walk here I saw them, same as you. Going about their morning. Working through the motions. Some can't focus right and get distracted. The rest let their work consume their thoughts so that they think of nothing else. Both cases are a response to one thing. They're scared."

"So am I." admitted Buckets, "Fear is natural."

"It's also chaotic if left unchecked."

"And you want to keep it in check? Can I assume that's why I saw Kiera scamper out of here moments ago? No need to explain she'll tell me later. Ask what it is you want to ask."

Clementine straightened, "During your time as a recruit did you make any friends with the other guard?"

Finished with his odd yoga, Buckets started wiping himself down with a towel. "Of course. None though that could survive a six-year separation. I wasn't particularly close with anyone with the sole exception of one. My Captain."

"As in the Captain of the Rangers? The one in charge of that whole division?"

"You studied your ranks…Yes, that Captain."

"What are the chances your Captain would help us?"

Buckets started to dress himself, "The Rangers are all that's left of the old guard. Their military history could be traced back to The Great war. They're strong willed and honorable to the core."

"So, they'd help us." Clementine couldn't keep the hope out of his voice.

"No, I don't think they would. They're loyal to the very people we're up against. They might sympathize with our plight but I don't think it would go much farther beyond that."

"You're saying there is no chance we have any friends out there?"

"I can't say for sure on anything. It's been six years."

Clementine pursed his lips, "I thought you were supposed to be stubbornly optimistic."

"I'm a romantic, not an idiot."

"Tell me then," Clementine looked out towards the Spine, "what do you think Runt is doing?"

* * *

 _What am I doing?_ Runt turned away from the Spine probably for the hundredth time in the last hour alone.

"Still nothing?" asked Blind Shan. She sat on what remained of a house, her weight causing the thing to slowly sink into the mud.

"It's been quiet all morning. But I know I heard something last night. I know it."

"You don't have to convince me." She cackled.

Runt kicked up the mud as he paced, mumbling to himself incoherently. Out of the corner of his eye stood six large shadows. Taller than even Runt. They levitated an inch above the mud, watching him. Their heads tracked Runt as he paced.

"Not now." He muttered to the watchers, "Go away."

"Why don't you take a break?" suggested Shan, "You look worse than me, kid."

"I need to know."

"Know what exactly? Do you even have the first clue of what's going on?"

"That's why I need to figure it out!" he shouted at the shadowy watchers, who hovered next to Blind Shan.

"Well, if you're so desperate why don't you climb the thing and find out?"

Runt stopped his pacing and turned back around. Looking straight up he couldn't even see the top of the Spine. He placed his hand against the rock once more, this time searching for handholds.

From the lack of a response Blind Shan called out. "Wait. You're not serious are you? I was joking. That things as tall as a mountain."

"People have climbed mountains before."

"People have fallen and died on mountains before."

Runt stared up the side of the Spine, "I can do it."

"You what?!"

"Climb it, I mean. I can do it."

"I don't doubt you." Said a new voice.

Runt spun around in a frightened state only to find Clementine behind him. He was bedecked in a white dress shirt and solid purple vest. The high class fashion and vibrant color contrasted with the fact that the boy was barefooted and stained with mud up to his calves.

"Though," continued Clementine, "I would like to know why in the first place."

"He's hearing voices." Giggled Shan.

Runt shot her a glare. The shadowy watchers were gone. "No…it's not that. But there are people in there. They're digging through the rock like moles."

"People?" Clementine pointed at the Spine. "In there?"

"Yes. Deep within. Maybe miles away."

"Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?"

"This could be it, Clementine. This could be the answer."

"Answer to what?"

"Don't play dumb. I know you must've thought about this as well. They-Councilman Moss and whoever is with him…They want us gone. But why? Do they wish to expand their territory into the Mud District? Why not? The place is mostly abandoned anyhow. All they need do is come in and restore the district like the rest of Refuge, then it can be used to their advantage. What's the point of hiding a sore eye like us when they can just fix it? We've done nothing up until yesterday to provoke them. And now that we have, why don't they just storm through? They're trying to prevent a scene. Yes, they want us gone, but quietly without anyone taking notice. Which means-"

"They're hiding something." Finished Clementine, "Something they would most likely get into a lot of trouble for if it became public knowledge. And we…we are just in the way."

"And that something, is out there. I can feel it."

"Take me with you." Said Clementine.

Blind Shan almost lost balance and fell, "What?"

"I can't climb that myself. Can you carry me, Runt Braun? I don't weigh much."

Runt straightened, "I can."

Blind Shan broke into manic laughter, "You two…The piggyback ride of the century."

Clementine smiled at her, but it was a guarded one. As if unsure. "Long time. Thought you'd be hiding out here."

"Hiding? From what? I just prefer it out here is all."

"Well if that's the case then I hope you won't mind heading back. I need you to deliver a message."

* * *

The going was more fast paced than Clementine expected. Runt's arms propelled them upwards at an astonishing rate. More of a leap than a climb. If he couldn't find any solid holding, then he simply jammed his foot or fingers into the rock as easily as if it were made of clay. Clementine clung to his back, arms wrapped around his neck. If Runt struggled with the added weight he showed no sign of it. A little more than halfway up the Spine Runt stopped for a breather.

Clementine craned his neck to peer down below. For the first time he saw Refuge in its entirety. From the slums of the Mud District all the way to the imperious Administration District. The Vulcan Express train was just starting to pull out. Its tracks snaked across the glades outside the city, stretching past the valley landscape farther than Clementine could see. He whistled, "Do you imagine anyone is looking up at us now? What must we look like to them?"

"A fly on the wall I'd think."

"You're much too large for a fly." Joked Clementine.

Runt grunted, "Distance has a way of changing things."

"True…Refuge has never looked so small to me before."

Another grunt and Runt went back to work scaling the cliff face. His movement was similar to one of Vulcan's machine's Clementine had glimpsed as a child. Rigid but seamless. His muscles were steel folding over each other like armor. On a physical level no man or woman even came close to Runt. Clementine believed the giant to be on a level of his own. He was glad Runt was on his side.

Reaching the top, Clementine slid down onto shaky knees. This high up the wind buffeted him. He stumbled back and almost fell right over the edge, but caught himself just in time.

"You alright?" breathed Runt who knelt, his palms on his knees.

"Just a bit dizzy. You?"

Runt wiped the rock dust onto his pants and spat over the edge. "I'm fine."

Woods limited their view of what laid ahead. The top heavy trees swayed in the gusting winds.

"Not much to see, is there?" observed Clementine.

"Did you expect we'd find what we're looking for just over the top?"

"Buckets is wearing off on me. I practice optimism from time to time."

"Whatever it is, it's probably miles ahead. Come on. We've got a lot of walking to do today." He set off at a brisk pace, forcing Clementine to jog to catch up. Even then Runt didn't bother keeping a slower pace to match Clementine. His longer strides kept him ahead.

Runt bulldozed through the woods, eyes fixed forward. His unwavering focus mirrored that of the worry stricken people Clementine passed earlier. While he trudged forward Clementine stared wide-eyed, taking in every detail. The solid ground was uneven and layered with cracks from whence many of the trees sprouted from. Their roots covered the surrounding rocks like veins. The leaves were a rich summer green. The heavy wind sometimes tore them free at the stem. They twirled and danced through the air, not one ever touching the ground.

Runt glanced back at him, "What is it?"

"Huh?" replied Clementine.

"You're smiling."

"Am I not allowed to smile?" He caught a leaf as it blew past. "Look where we are, Runt. This is the first time I've ever left the city. Each step is a new record. I've never even seen this many trees up close before."

"It'll grow dull after a while. Soon enough, each tree will start to blend with the next and they all start looking the same."

Clementine released the leaf and let it join the others in their dance. "You've been out of the city before?"

Runt turned away and continued walking. "A long time ago."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No."

"What a lovely conversationalist you make." Drawled Clementine, "Help me out here, Runt. We barely know each other but here's a fact. We are partners in this conflict whether you like it or not and if we want to stand a chance of winning then we must learn to understand each other. It's my hope that one day, you will trust me."

"How do you plan that?"

"I admit; I'm still working it out. Yet, I suppose all good relationships start with the truth. So here it is. I did not push for the attack on the Buffer just to kill that guard. Though I knew Commander Webb would be there. It was an opportunity that I saw and I took. A man like that in a position of power would've put everyone at risk. He had to be dealt with and at that moment I could've done so without making everyone feel guilty over the death."

Runt laughed, "I agree, but that's not why you tried to kill him."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything you said is true." Said Runt, "A cruel man like that drunk would've been a risk to everybody. But we weren't in your heart when you stomped down on his throat. That was vengeance for what he did to you all those years back. You convinced yourself of the reason behind the act and don't get me wrong, there is reason, but that's not the truth of your intention."

"What of your intention, hmm? When you tried to end Sned's life."

"I didn't lie to myself. The truth of my violence was plain and unmistakable in my heart."

"Then how are you any better than me?"

"I'm not saying I am, but at least I accept the truth of my actions for what they are. You on the other hand, hide behind things like reason and logic. What happens when you start to see reason and logic where there are none to be found?"

Clementine smirked, "If what you say is true and that day comes, I expect you'll be there to put me in my place."

"Perhaps I will."

They continued on in silence for a time before Clementine spoke again hoping to coax Runt into a personal conversation.

"I never knew my parents. They were gone by the time I could remember anything. Risa, my sister, she told me they went out of the city to find work and never came back. So many things could happen on the road I'm told. It's anyone's guess what happened to them. How about you? Got any family?"

"Stop."

"What? I'm just trying to make conver-"

"Don't move!" He barked. Runt crouched low to the ground. His body shimmered a brown aura. If Clementine blinked he would've missed it. "We're being hunted."

"By what?" whispered Clementine.

Runt's vibrant blue eyes darted between the trees. "Grimm."

* * *

Over the rustling wind Runt could make out their bone claws scraping against the rock as they moved. They were everywhere. Hidden in the dense trees. It was impossible to tell how many. Runt was stretching the limits of his powers by deafening any sound he or Clementine made while at the same time amplifying the rest to his ears. Doing both at once made it difficult to weave through the tangle of sounds. The most distracting of which being Clementine's thudding heartbeat. If he could just-

There. A snap of a twig. Runt dashed towards a large boulder for cover, gesturing for Clementine to find his own hiding spot. He waited, his back pressed against the rough stone. The scraping footsteps came closer. Out of the corner of his eye the Grimm's snout appear. A Beowolf. Its tongue licked the air as if tasting the fight to come. Runt reached out, his movements deaf to all around them. One hand clasped around the Beowolf's snout, snapping it shut and stifling its roar while the other hand gripped the back of its skull. With one savage twist the beast went limp. Runt didn't wait for it to fall. He rushed to the next cover, hiding himself once more.

The dead Grimm dissolved into black mist and was taken by the wind. Spotting the smoky remains of their fallen kin, the rest of the pack converged. None had seen Runt or even heard what happened. They sniffed about, curious. Six were left. Beowolves. They Circled around on all fours, black fur bristling. Clementine's heart beat quickened. All at once their head's turned, their blazing red eyes set on Clementine's hiding spot behind a tree. With their backs turned towards him, Runt advanced. As quiet as a ghost he came upon the closest Beowolf, snapping its neck much like he did the first one. Before its body hit the ground Runt was upon the next one.

The Grimm saw him just in time and let out a roar. A bestial sound filled with rage. But none heard its cry. The simple beast looked confused as Runt's fist came down upon its face shattering its bone mask. Thanks to Runt's semblance the roar was quieter than the wind to the rest of the pack. The remaining four were enclosing on Clementine, their hackles rising. Runt slipped out his carpenter's hatchet from the belt loop and leapt to the next Grimm. He drove the sharp edge deep into its back. It let out a roar, but this time Runt amplified its screech to its brethren. The other three Grimm flinched and whirled around in a frenzy. One lunged for Runt but he got out his hammer in time to knock it to the side. The metal head however, snapped off the wooden handle and flew spinning into the woods.

The remaining two hesitated in their attack. It gave Runt all the time he needed to discard the useless handle and finish off the one still beneath him by burying his hatchet into the top of its skull. Emboldened by their kin's death, the two attacked. Runt dodged one and collided with the other. Jaws bit down onto his shoulder. Jagged teeth cracked against his aura. The resulting shockwave numbed his arm, but his shields held. He drove his fist into the Beowolf's stomach, grabbing one of its bony ribs and ripping it out. The beast fell onto its back writhing in pain. Runt spun around just as the one he dodged reached him. He jammed the rib bone into the Grimm's forehead, right between the eyes. It fell and dissolved on the spot.

Runt stomped down on the writhing one's rib cage, finishing off the Beowolf. Another roar. The last remaining Beowolf, the one he knocked aside with his hammer came charging back. But not for Runt, for Clementine who stepped out from his hiding spot. The scrawny boy positioned himself in an unfamiliar stance, palms open, ready to counterattack. His opportunity to do so revealed itself when the Grimm jumped the remaining distance between them. Clementine lunged underneath the creature of Grimm, poised to strike at its nonexistent heart. Then he froze. That small hiccup of hesitation caused the man and beast to slam into each other. Clementine was knocked to the ground while the Beowolf continued to tumble through the air.

Clementine was slow to recover, while the Grimm pounced almost as soon as it landed. Runt seized the beast's tail, causing the creature to flop onto the ground just out of reach from Clementine. He dragged the Grimm away, its claws raking the dirt. With a yank, Runt threw the Beowolf back where it slammed against a boulder. Its head cracked against the rock and bounced back only to meet Runt's fist. The boulder groaned and splintered from the punch. Runt sighed and stepped back as more black dust swirled in the air.

He turned to check on Clementine. "Are you good?"

The blood had left the boy's face leaving him pale and sickly. "Yeah, fine."

"Then would you mind explaining to me why in the world you left your cover? Were you trying to get yourself killed?!"

Clementine wilted under Runt's admonishment, "I thought I could help."

"Help?" Runt spat the word back out at him.

"I've never seen Grimm in real life before. They caught me off guard. It won't happen again."

"Damn straight."

"Look Runt, I can handle myself."

"Oh really? Tell me, where did you learn to fight?"

"I've studied martial arts for years now. Several styles spread across several volumes. The same stuff Huntsmen read at Haven. Practiced on my own and against any idiot who tried me."

Runt scoffed, "Books? Fighting isn't something you can study. Left foot there, right foot here, arc your back just so. Worthless. More than half that crap goes right out the window in a real fight. You may be able to handle scraps with thugs, but you forget, these are monsters. Monsters that will not hesitate to tear you limb from limb!"

Clementine leaned against a tree, taking the weight off his right leg. "Are you done?"

"What's that?" growled Runt.

"You're worked up, I understand. You had to kill six Grimm with your bare hands. Now I appreciate you saving me just now, but let's get something straight here. I am not someone you need to protect. Spare me of that, if you please."

"Are you saying you don't want my help?"

"No!" snapped Clementine, "Dammit. You wouldn't understand. When people look at you they see strength. Bravery. Hope. All that shit. They look at me and see weakness. Something broken. Their glances are instilled with enough pity to choke on. You in particular. But it's something different in your eyes. Not pity. Hate? Perhaps even guilt. A mountain of it hangs around your neck. I've seen it wear on you. I won't pretend to know why. It stirs awaken only when I'm in your presence." He paused to catch his breath, "Whatever I did to upset you…I am sorry."

The anger that had momentarily gripped Runt dissolved away just as easily as one of those Beowolves. His massive fists uncurled. He staggered and straightened.

"It's not what you did." said Runt, "It's what I failed to do. I couldn't save her."

"Who?"

"Risa." That name was powerful enough to leave both of them pale in the face.

"You knew my sister?"

"Intimately."

Clementine flinched. His mouth gaped open without a sound coming out. He stayed that way. Stunned silent. Runt could do nothing but watch the realization slowly work its way through him. When it ran its course, Clementine sagged against a tree as if his right leg were broken.

"She never told me."

"She wanted too. But I was afraid. Kept pushing it back. Someday, Next week…Tomorrow. By then it was too late."

"You tried to save her?"

"I did and I failed. That failure will haunt me to the end of my days."

"That's why you said-The other day…At least you tried." Said Clementine, his voice thick with remorse. "I never even made it back to the Mud District. Webb saw to that. Even if what you said was true and I didn't stand a chance, I still would've tried."

The pain in the boy's tone threatened to bring Runt to tears. He wanted to comfort him, but he had nothing to say but, I'm sorry. He could tell, Clementine was done with apologies.

"Do you know what the worst thing is?" asked Clementine with a humorless smile, "I'm not even sure if my memory of her is accurate. I remember so little from when I was a boy. And those things that I do recall I feel are painted differently. I am forced to wonder ten years down the line…Will my image of her be even remotely close to the truth?" his smile faded and his eyes went wide as if he just realized. "I can't even picture her face."

"You look like her. Same complexion. Strawberry blonde hair. Her purple eyes were lighter than yours, like lilacs. But your similarities go far beyond the physical. You have her strength of will. One that dwarfs my own." Runt's voice was so quiet the wind threatened to snatch his words away. He wasn't even sure if Clementine heard him or not. The boy shifted back onto his right leg as if he were unsure it could support his weight. The effort strained him.

"Whatever your relationship with Risa, you owe me nothing. All I'm asking is you treat me like you do Kiera and Buckets."

Runt had no words to answer him. So, he nodded and continued onwards.

"Come on, then. We're losing daylight."


	10. Chapter 9

The inn grew packed. Almost the whole district showed up to their meeting. They cornered Kiera and Buckets, pinning them with their questions. Worry had spread across the Mud District and they craved answers. Kiera couldn't blame them. She shared their worries. Buckets took the brunt of their questions. He tried addressing every individual issue to the best of his abilities, but before he could fully answer one question, ten more piled up. Wasn't long before they turned on each other over things that had nothing to do with anything. Old rivalries, past slights. Individually, most were well behaved. But put the crabby bunch together and they fight like hyenas over dinner. Kiera pleaded with them to remain calm, but her words fell on deaf ears. She was out of her element and drowning.

Kiera leaned back in her chair, defeated. "Wrangling farm animals was easier than this."

"Don't sweat it." said Buckets, "They need this. Let them vent out their frustrations. It's good."

"Good?" Kiera pointed out into the tumultuous crowd, "Those neighbors are arguing about how one never returned the other's frying pan. Those kids are complaining to Mr. Flood about over-priced chewing gum. And the Boyle brothers over there are fighting about the time one pulled the walking board out from the other, dropping them into the wet mud…Fifty years ago!"

Buckets chortled, "At least they're not stressing on the real issues anymore."

"I still don't see how this is good. Things will get out of hand if we don't do something."

"Relax. My little brother and sister used to argue like this all the time. I never understood how twins could be so different." He shuddered as if remembering something unpleasant. "Didn't you once tell me nothing lasts forever? Eventually, they'll burn themselves out and when they do there will be this empty space inside them ready to be filled. It will be our job to fill it."

"Fill it with what?"

"Love, friendship, comradery," his eyes lit up in a peculiar way, "…ale?"

"You of all people should know. With the exception of Coll and Runt, people here don't drink easily. It's practically the opposite everywhere else."

"One the strangest things about the Mud District I'd say."

"There's a lack of desire and supply. They only drink on special occasions."

"I'd wager this to be one such occasion. Coll has a stockpile, I know it. How else he manages to get drunk every night?"

Kiera licked her dry lips. "It is hot out. A cold ale might just be what they need. Think you can convince him to crack it open?"

"I'll go find out." Buckets set out, pushing his way through the packed inn. Kiera lost sight of him as he neared the bar. Having seemingly forgotten about her or the reason they're all here the crowd continued to argue. One man separated himself from the nonsense and came over to take Buckets seat.

"How's the arm?" asked Kiera.

Greenberg wiggled the fingers protruding from the cast. "On the mend. How are you holding up?"

"Fine. Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What about?"

"You taught Clementine when he was younger, yeah?"

"I did. His sister too before him."

"What was she like?"

"Risa?" Greenberg smiled upon recalling her, "She was a sweet girl. Hard working too. Got along with just about everyone."

"And her little brother?"

His smile disappeared, "Less so. He was never much interested in what I had to teach him. He preferred to find his own education. While the kids were learning the basics of say math and the like he would bring in his own materials. Specialized topics. Little curiosities to be explored. Where he got them from I have no idea. Anyways I didn't have him for very long. Stopped coming altogether after the first few weeks."

"Did he have any friends?"

"One…If you can call it that. Just ran into her in fact."

"Who?"

"Blind Shan."

Kiera struggled to remember the woman. "Old Gran's sister?"

Greenberg paused as if he never considered that before. "Are they?"

"Old Gran complains about her enough to be. I haven't seen her in a while. Thought she left the city."

"Evidently not. She's the reason I came to talk to you in the first place. She's outside with a message for you. The reclusive woman refuses to come in."

Kiera stood, "Where outside?"

"Near the water well."

"Thanks, Professor."

"I'm not a professor!" he shot back but she was already halfway towards the door.

The well wasn't far. Kiera knew how to get there by heart. Back and forth she once went. Blinded and choked by smoke. The well was located in the middle of an intersection a stone's toss from the blackened husk remains left by the fire. She found Blind Shan sitting idle under the well's roof absentmindedly yanking on the pulley rope. The suspended bucket jostled with every pull. The old woman appeared to have shrunken over the years or maybe that was just her hunched posture. Her wrinkled face turned to regard Kiera's approach.

"Are you Kiera?" she asked.

"I am."

Blind Shan hopped off the stone well with surprising ease for someone her age. "Am I supposed to take your word for it? Come here, let me have a look at you."

"Come again?"

"Kneel down child, you expect me to reach at my age?"

Hesitating for a moment, Kiera knelt so Shan could reach her face. Her hands were bony, yet her touch gentle. They moved over her features feeling her jaw and nose, passing over her eyes and lips. Shan nodded, "Hmmmm, pretty." She clasped Kiera's shoulders and gave them a small squeeze. "And strong too. A powerful combination…I was told you are a faunus with the tail of a panther."

Kiera flicked her tail forward. She waved it in front of Shan who after a few swings seized the tail with one quick snatch of her hand. The old woman brushed her palm over the tail, petting the sleek black fur. Kiera shivered and instinctively recoiled.

"Sorry." Apologized Shan, quickly releasing her hold. "I know that must feel weird to you. Understandable considering. I knew a few faunus in my day. A handsome, broad man with the fur of a bear and a beautiful lady with the teeth of a piranha. They too were sensitive about their animalistic features. She never liked to smile-"

"What's the message already?"

Blind Shan retreated back under the well's shade. "Didn't mean to stir up anything…Young Clementine sent me. He and Tysa's Runt are investigating something beyond the Spine. He said they would be back tonight and expressed desire for you to hold down the fort here while they are away. He also said to recruit some buckets to help," she yanked on the rope once more jostling the attached wooden bucket, "but your guess is as good as mine."

Kiera bit back a curse, "What are they investigating?"

"An irregularity sensed by myself and young Mr. Braun."

"Could you be more specific?"

"I think it will be best to wait for their return."

Kiera groaned in frustration, "How did they even get past the Spine?"

"I jokingly suggested they climb it. Runt Braun isn't very good at recognizing a joke, is he?"

"How am I supposed to keep things settled here while they go off sightseeing?"

"He didn't say."

"Oh, that's just great." She stormed off without another word. Behind her the blind old woman muttered something about the usefulness of a bucket. Her words had a way of chasing Kiera across the eerily quiet district. Kiera found herself teetering on the edge of a run just to get away. Only when she caught sight of the inn did she relax some.

Buckets was waiting for her at the door. "There you are." He said when she came into view. "We might have a prob-"

She grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him inside with her. "Nothing a drink won't fix."

"You alright?"

"Did Coll agree or what?"

"Y-yes." He stammered.

"Then what's the problem?"

His smile placated her. "It's nothing."

* * *

When the two of them set out again they walked side by side. A small fact that made Clementine happier than he expected. Their encounter with the Grimm had left him rattled. What followed, even more so. Risa and Runt…the thought had never crossed his mind. Not once. Clementine wasn't sure how to feel. Dismayed by the revelation long kept from him? Heartbroken that Runt grieved alone and in silence for all these years?

There was no hiding how close they must have been. It was clear as day. Always had been and yet he never noticed until now. The veil had been pulled from his eyes. Clementine feared he would lose sight of who Risa was, but now it seemed he barely knew her at all. The thought turned his stomach so he cast it from his mind and instead focused on the Grimm.

The outside world was more dangerous than he initially thought. No more than an hour's walk into the woods and they were set upon. Somehow the danger did nothing to dissuade Clementine of his curiosity. On the contrary, he was more intrigued than ever. Runt was right. Books could only teach a person so much. The real thing was far more breathtaking. Clementine found himself craving more.

"You handled yourself well enough." Runt may as well have been talking to the trees for all Clementine could tell.

"What's that?"

"When you went to take on that Beowolf. It was a good stance. And your lunge was elegant, I admit it. A duelist's lunge. You didn't hesitate or look away. Not until the last second. Even so, for someone who's never seen Grimm before that's no small thing."

"Is that a compliment?" teased Clementine, "Am I hearing right? Are you actually praising me?"

"Don't make me regret it." warned Runt.

"Wouldn't dream of it. But I don't deserve it. I froze right when I was close enough to strike."

"There's no shame in freezing up. You can't prepare yourself for something like that. My first time seeing a creature of Grimm I pissed myself."

Clementine chuckled, "As amusing as that is, I didn't freeze up because of how terrifying it was. I've imagine worse."

"What then?"

"It's hard to explain…I am pretty good at reading people. Just one small exchange and I can get a feel of who they really are. But looking into that Grimm I felt nothing. Nothing at all."

"No surprise there. Grimm are monsters with no souls. Nightmares…" Runt's voice drifted.

"For nightmares, they were little trouble. You handled them well. Like you've done it before."

"I was raised to fight them. By the time I was fifteen I could wrestle an Ursa to the ground. Did you see the bones on the outside of their bodies? That's one way to track their age. That and their size. They were young and reckless. Puppies compared to what I've faced. And a small pack of them at that. We got lucky. I'm not sure how they found us…The wind must have carried our scent."

"They can sniff out our negative emotion." Said Clementine, "That's how they found us."

"That's just a theory. A story to frighten children and make them behave. It's never been proven. How can it? The only way to study a creature of Grimm is watch it from a distance or fight it tooth and nail." Runt seemed to remind himself of something. "The other day you said you knew all these things about the guard who hurt you. Where he slept and ate. Seemed you knew his whole routine."

"This is true." Confirmed Clementine.

"If your desire for revenge was so strong how come you didn't strike sooner? Why wait all this time? You must've thought about it."

"I did. More than I'd care to admit. Sometimes I felt like it was the only thing keeping me in Refuge. But you see, I was hesitant to act on my own. It wasn't until I had my foot on his neck did I realize."

Runt slowed in his pace so that he fell behind a little. "Realize what?"

"How easy it was."

"Taking a life should never be easy."

"And yet it is."

"The physical action perhaps, but that's only half of it. What comes next is far worse. You think you can shoulder the burden of another soul on your conscious? You'll be taking them everywhere you go for the rest of your life."

Clementine looked back to see Runt staring at the ground his hands clenched into fists. "Have you ever killed someone?"

Runt glanced over his shoulder as if eyeing someone behind him. "The lives you take. Directly or indirectly. Innocent or guilty. They become linked to your soul. Bonded till death where they will wait for you."

"Sounds unpleasant."

"It can be." Runt turned back around and strode to catch up. "You fight utilizing your aura, yes?"

Respecting his change of topic, Clementine nodded. "I do. Taught myself to let it out in pulse bursts when I strike. Makes me stronger."

"An aura is the physical manifestation of one's soul. To fight with it is to brush souls with your opponent. In a sense, you open yourself to them. Maybe this allows you to glimpse their true nature. Could explain the null dread you felt when you closed in on that Grimm."

"Is that a common thing?" asked Clementine, equally curious and worried.

"No, it's not." Admitted Runt, "You're full of surprises."

"Same could be said of you. I saw you fight those Beowolves. I saw one rear back its head and howl but I didn't hear anything and judging from their lack of reactions, neither did the rest of the pack."

"It's called semblance…Didn't you read about that in one of your books? I can manipulate sound. Amplify or lower it as I see fit to myself or those around me."

Clementine's face scrunched in thought then he laughed, "So that's how…So many things about you just made a whole lot more sense." His laugh quickly turned into a gag as the wind carried in something foul. "Gah, what is that?"

Runt sniffed the air, "I'm not sure."

They picked up their pace. As they went the stench grew fouler. Dark clouds overhead dimmed the once bright sky gray. Runt pointed out a gap in the leaves. Somewhere up ahead smoke billowed like a baker's chimney. A lot of it too. The smoke gathered in the clouds, scorching the sky. Runt slid to a halt, stopping Clementine as well.

"What is it?" asked Clementine, "Hear something with your super hearing?"

"If you shut up and listen, then you can hear it as well."

He was right of course. There was a commotion up ahead. A muttered clamor similar to the ambiance of the Craft District. They approached with caution. The number of trees dwindled, leaving the cracked ground barren. The lack of cover left them exposed while also allowing them to see farther. About fifty feet ahead the ground fell away and from that pit arose a swirl of dust clouds and smoke. They moved close enough to the edge to look down.

The pit was deeper than he dared imagine. The depth of it was almost equal to the height of the Spine itself. Every fifty feet was another layer funneling down to the very bottom. The small forms of people scurried about like ants on every level. There were hundreds of them. Thousands. On the other side of the gap that made up the pit's mouth were ramparts of a sort. Hard to tell from the distance and hazy air, but pulley systems were in constant motion hauling up and down people and cargo both.

Runt released the breath he had been holding, "It's a damned mining quarry!"

"Not on any map I've ever seen." Commented Clementine.

"This-this shouldn't be here."

"And yet here it is. Just out of sight. Nicely tucked away in our own backyard and we didn't even notice. All except you, Runt." His voice trembled, "I never even bothered to look this way."

"You're looking now."

"And I can't turn away." Overcome by a sense of vertigo, Clementine took a precautionary step back from the ledge.

"Hey!" shouted a voice from their left, "Who the fuck are you two?!" The fast approaching man wore patches of scale armor and skins. Worn and strapped at his limbs. A serpent's fangs were tattooed on the man's cheek. He had a mercenary look about him. No City Guard, that's for sure. And yet the gun he aimed at them was the same model gifted to Sned.

Before the patrol got within earshot Clementine whispered. "Let me do the talking."

As the man drew closer he took note of Runt's size and stared up at the larger man, bug-eyed. "What are you two doing here?" he hissed.

Clementine stepped forward, prompting the man to aim the gun at his chest. "What does it look like we're doing here you simp? I was told you people would meet us halfway, but you were a bunch of useless no shows. Now, after what felt like hours trudging through the woods lost, you dare point a gun our way?"

The mercenary wavered slightly, "Who are you two?"

"I come on behalf of Councilman Moss."

The mercenary went pale, "What?"

"Oh you don't got a clue, do you? Go find someone who does and have him meet us at the lifts. Don't bother with an escort. We've managed fine on our own without your help. Now go, before I have my man here toss you over the side like the useless sack you are."

Runt nudged forward an inch and the mercenary practically jumped. He examined Clementine closely, then took one last glance at Runt before scurrying off. After he was out of earshot Clementine chuckled softy.

"Nice touch there. He looked ready to shit himself."

Runt rumbled a laugh, "Where'd you learn to demand people around like that?"

"I've been a spoiled child once or twice in a theatre play. No trick to it. Just act like you know something they should and always remind them of your powerful daddy."

"But the councilor…"

Clementine smirked, "A shot in the dark, but not a blind one. He oversees all of Refuge's affairs. If he's not running this operation, then he is at least involved in some fashion. Right now, his name is our key to get in."

"Wait, you're serious? You want to go down there?"

"Truthfully Runt, I didn't expect to find anything out here. I thought you were just sleep deprived or something. But now that we're here we might as well find out as much as we can. Don't you think so?"

"How? We've already been noticed. There are too many to sneak past. Look at us." Demanded Runt, "I mean really look at us. A blue eyed giant and a posh looking squirt with bare feet. We're not the most inconspicuous pair. They'll spot us for sure."

"I'm not saying we sneak in. We go along with the lie. Ride that train as far as it can take us. I'm the son of some spoiled high-class family here to do Moss' business. You are my bodyguard. Just glower at everyone you see and act like you belong here. If we think it, then so will they."

Runt grinned, "You're insane."

"No dear bodyguard. I am a performer. Now the stage awaits. Let's not keep the audience waiting, shall we?" Clementine set out and after a brief second Runt followed. They walked along the Quarry, circling around to the front where the lifts were. Clementine strode a step ahead. Whenever assuming a role, he always liked to get into character by mastering that character's walk. The stroll around the giant Quarry pit provided ample time to practice. His movements transformed with long strides, a puffed-out chest, and an upraised chin.

Along the way other mercenary guards stopped and stared. The one Clementine had belittled earlier had obviously spread the word because no one tried to stop them. Each and every one of them were similarly garbed in patches of scale armor and lizard skins, presumably from a snake. They all had the same serpent's fang tattooed somewhere on their body or painted onto their armor. It appeared to be the icon of whatever group they made up.

It was a good long walk to the lifts and by the time they arrived a small party had gathered to meet them. The cheek tattooed man who carried Clementine's message was bent over wheezing from exhaustion. Next to him stood a formidable figure. The man was short now that Runt had arrived, but he was just one solid slab of muscle. The pickaxe he carried looked more like a toothpick in his meaty palms. He had an unsettlingly cherubic face despite his obvious age. The left side of his cheek was swollen with some kind of cud that squelched inside his mouth.

"Welcome my friends." Whatever he was sucking on stained his rotten teeth and lips pink. "Sorry about trouble. Didn't hear about no visitors."

Clementine surveyed the ramparts with an unimpressed expression. Off to the side was a gravel road leading away. A number of box trucks were parked in a line beside the road. They were the same as the ones that delivered to the Buffer. Mercenaries worked on loading and unloading the trucks. Some of the cargo containers had the Vulcan Industries 'V' logo stamped on it while others were marked with just a black spot. Clementine noted that they were split up onto separate trucks. He allowed his attention to wander, purposefully drawing out the pause before finally regarding the one who spoke. "And you are?"

"The Foreman, little Sir."

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes."

When it was clear the Foreman wasn't going to elaborate further Clementine continued, "Right, so you're the one in charge here?"

The Foreman had to think about that for a few seconds before replying with a, "Yes. I believe I am." He didn't sound very sure of himself. _Great, the man is as thickskulled as the rocks he breaks._

Clementine waved his hand to disperse a cloud of dust the wind had seen fit to blow into his face. "Can I assume you at least heard of the incident?"

The Foreman blinked, "The what?"

The exhausted patrol mercenary next to him spoke up, "He means what happened in Refuge the other day. The people from the Mud District revolted. They took over the Buffer. The City Guard there were savagely beaten but those brown foots let them flee so that they would walk the streets of Refuge, a threatening warning to any who would oppose them."

Clementine's face twitched. A flicker of his real emotion showing through just for a moment. "Is that what they say?"

"It's what I heard." Shrugged the mercenary.

Without warning the Foreman cracked the mercenary in the head with the flat end of his pickaxe. There was no anger in that devastating blow. None that Clementine could spot. The action was quick and instinctive like swatting a fly. The mercenary went face first into the gravel and didn't move.

"You hear and not tell me? What use are you then?" he gestured and a couple more mercenaries came and retrieved their comrade's body, dragging it away as casually as one might mop up a spill. The Foreman scratched his shaved head with the pickaxe's chisel end. "Sorry, what you say you were here for?"

Clementine feigned a smile, "In light of recent events Councilor Moss thought it best to send me to check on things here."

"Is this an inspection?" asked the Foreman.

"Nothing so formal."

His eyes brightened, "A tour then?"

"If you would be so kind."

He looked up at Runt, something he clearly wasn't used to. "Who's your friend?"

"My bodyguard. He goes wherever I go."

The Foreman nodded, "Big fella, ain't he? Could use a man like that here. Other tools break to easily. How much for him?"

"I'm afraid he's not for sale."

"That's too bad." The Foreman spat a glob of pinkish phlegm into the gravel and spun around. "Follow me, little Sir."

With the Foreman's back turned Clementine chanced a glance at Runt. The big guy wasn't holding it together as well as he hoped. Clementine couldn't blame him. At the mention of sale, a shiver ran down his spine. You don't sell workers, only slaves. Even with Clementine's abundant imagination he could not think of anything worse than slavery. The subjection of one's freewill left a vile taste in his mouth. With some effort, the dark pit in his gut swallowed that bitterness down, allowing him to move towards the lifts with a smile.

Grumbling something incomprehensible under his breath, Runt followed suit. The bodyguard scowl he wore soured from a mix of revulsion and rage. Runt stopped just before stepping foot into the metal cage lift. He leaned over the edge. While staring below a bead of sweat trickled down his face. Clementine cleared his throat of dust, using that instance to secretly beckon Runt to get on. Runt shot Clementine a sneer and entered the lift.

The Foreman beamed, "All ready, yes?" With a pull of a lever the lift began its slow descent. Runt moved to the lift's railing, grabbing on so tightly his knuckles whitened. Clementine joined him at the railing overlooking the Quarry below. Each level protruded from the last like a grand staircase. Heavily armed guards manned each of the levels where lifts stopped. They were marked with the serpent's fangs same as the rest. However, the Foreman was absent the symbol. Whatever the reason, Clementine kept his thoughts to himself and instead focused on his surroundings.

A vast web of chain and rope created the pulley system that operated the lifts. An impressive feat of engineering far past anything these mercenaries were capable of. There were more than ten caged compartments going at once. They descended at an angle so that they would meet each level's platform, just barely missing the edge of the previous. The thick wires that were the lifts' zip lines sagged ever so slightly under the strain.

Caverns honeycombed the Quarry walls, hollowing it out like a beehive. Most of the top levels appeared empty, but as they passed by figures emerged from the shadowy caverns. They were hard to make out. Clementine could only see the whites of their eyes through the dusty air.

"A wonderful sight, I cannot lie." Lied Clementine.

"We have over a dozen caverns per level with countless tunnels sprouting from each one. They stretch out miles." The Foreman spoke with a passion for his work that at least made his words more intelligible. "I was but a baby suckling on dry dirt when the pick first revealed this land's jewels. It's been more than fifty years since then and still this place shows no signs of depletion."

"You must be proud to run such a fine establishment."

The Foreman regarded the quarry before him, "I am."

"How much Dust is churned out of here weekly, would you say?"

The Foreman sloshed the wad in his mouth with his tongue as he thought. "About a hundred crates. Half to the smiths and half to the black."

"The black?"

The Foreman raised a mostly burned away eyebrow, "The black market."

"Ah, right." Giggled Clementine, "Of course."

Almost a quarter of the way down they spotted the main body of workers. Gaunt, hunched over. Men and Women coated in grime. Their clothes were tatters and rags. Faunus mostly. Their animalistic attributes made them easy to differentiate. Most moved unaware of their presence, spurred by the barking orders of their overseers. But one looked up, a boy. Half Clementine's own age. He wore thick goggles that covered most of his face. Behind those tinted lenses his eyes met Clementine's. The boy's cracked lips pealed back revealing a strange smile. The two front teeth on both the top and bottom rows were much longer and thicker than the others.

"You use children?" Runt's voice was taut.

The Foreman nodded, "My tunnellers. The most valuable tool. Each one worth ten fully grown. They get to places most cannot."

The railing crackled and splintered under Runt's constricting grip. Clementine placed a hand on his arm, which miraculously soothed the giant man enough to prevent him from snapping the railing in half.

"Why so many faunus?" asked Clementine.

"Just what I'm given." Answered the Foreman, "Condemned prisoners and slaves. Some see in the dark. Very useful." The farther down they went the harder it became to breathe. Dust was thick in the air and heavy on the tongue. Each breath was a painful wheeze. Clementine cleared his throat.

"Some harsh conditions here, don't you think?"

The Foreman squirted out another pink hued glob of spittle between a gap in his teeth. "You get used to it."

Clementine peered below. The very bottom of the pit was shrouded in a veil of colorful smoke. "What happened down there?"

"An explosion a week or so back. Someone struck wrong crystal. Started chain reaction. Laid out entire bottom level."

"Is stuff like that common around here?"

"Common enough." Shrugged the Foreman, "Deeper we go more volatile Dust becomes. Easy to trigger something if one's not careful."

"It's been over a week and the stuff hasn't cleared out yet?"

"Even after Dust's exploded the resulting smoke don't just float away like normal. Dust lingers. No choice but to let it air out on its own. Even in gas state they're dangerous. Stuff can be ignited all over again by natural elements. Its why lantern light only given to the steadiest of tunnellers."

Runt shifted his focus away from the slaves for the first time since spotting them. "The storms."

The Foreman considered Runt's sudden interest before nodding, "Aye, stuff mixes with clouds and come the storm the sky rages in bright lights. We use the noise to muffle our own detonations when needed."

"The lightning sets it off?" asked Clementine, trying to sound less interested than he actually was.

"Seems like. I'm not scientist."

The lift slowed to a halt on the level just above the smoke-filled bottom. The guards stationed there straightened to attention as the Foreman and his two guests exited the lift. After a few threats from the level overseers the slave workers picked up the pace on whatever task they were doing.

The Foreman took the lead. The slaves parted as if he were a boat and they the water. They avoided eye contact, but Clementine could feel their gazes on him. Every time he turned in their direction they shifted away. This up close he could make out the details of everyone he passed. The number of years spent here were easily marked by their weathered faces. They moved about freely, if that word could ever be used here, with nothing restricting their limbs.

"I expected chains." said Clementine.

"Chains make it hard to work. No chains needed."

"Then you risk them escaping?"

The Foreman's plumb cheeks grew cherry red, "None escape. None ever have. Lifts are only way in or out. If they climb they are shot down. If they somehow take control of lift, then wire is cut."

"An impressive record then."

The Foreman grunted, but said nothing else.

A slave emerged from the closest cavern struggling with a wheelbarrow full of rocks. As he came close the wheelbarrow careened, taking the man with it. The two pitched to the side and collapsed on the rough ground. Clementine resisted his urge to help the fallen slave.

"Best leave him be." Said the Foreman, "If one tool breaks then it wasn't meant for job."

Runt forcibly shoved past the Foreman, "Or maybe you're using your tools wrong." The Foreman's jaw muscles bunched, the cud squelching like a sponge between the man's grinding teeth.

Clementine muttered a quick apology before moving to join his supposed bodyguard. Runt knelt beside the fallen slave. The man's hands were bloodied from calluses. He was new, not yet used to the labor. But it was only a matter of time before his hands hardened into the scarred, puckered things that were a common trait among all that labored here.

"Are you alright?" Runt flipped the man onto his back. Soot sheathed his face like war paint. A glaze rested over his blank eyes. He looked straight into Runt's face and all fog that shrouded his vision dissipated. Sned stared, eyes sharp with alertness while Runt was too stunned to move. Clementine held his breath. That alarm in Sned's expression died as quickly as it appeared. He flicked his broken gaze to Clementine then back to Runt before peeling himself away from the stunned man's grip. Without saying a word Sned went back to work shoveling the fallen debris back into the wheelbarrow, marking them each with a bloody handprint. Runt finally stood and stepped back, allowing Sned the space to haul himself away. The former Mudslinger leader didn't even look back at them as he left.

Pretending as if nothing happened, Clementine wiped his clammy palms onto his pants and continued towards the cavern where Sned came from. The footsteps of Runt and the Foreman were close behind.

At the cavern mouth, something white caught Clementine's eye. He spun in place, examining the ceiling. There were five in total, evenly spread out across the edge of the cavern. "What are those?" he asked.

The Foreman's ghastly smile was something Clementine would never forget. "I call them sticky puddies. Make them myself. Grounded up dust crystals mixed with an adhesive and fixed with remote detonator. In case we tunnel into Grimm. Collapse it all, cut them off before they break out."

"What about the workers inside?"

"What about them?"

It hurt to smile. "That's very clever of you. Didn't think that was possible."

"Thirty years I run this quarry. I've personally handled more Dust than any man alive."

"Councilor Moss will be pleased to hear everything is running so smoothly, then."

"He will?"

"You doubt it?" questioned Clementine.

"No, little Sir-Only, the Councilor never showed any interest about this place before. All he care about is profit, not the work."

"I can assure you that the Councilor cares more than you know." The Foreman considered that for a moment before smiling. "You're doing a bang-up job here Mr. Foreman," continued Clementine. "I thank you for the tour. I've seen more than enough to be satisfied and then some. It's time for us to go."

"Okay."

"Oh, and keep my visit here quiet. After what's happened, the Councilor is a little more than troubled. He's not sure who he can trust."

"He can trust me, little Sir."

"And I will tell him just that when I see him next."

The Foreman damn near blushed.

* * *

Mole watched the lifts ascend back up to the ramparts, carrying away the two fascinating visitors. Guests were a rare joy at the Quarry. In all of Mole's eight years he had never seen ones as interesting as the two who came today. The most obvious of the two was the giant. Easily the biggest man Mole had ever seen. Even the Foreman looked as if a child standing next to that man. What shocked Mole the most was how similar the giant appeared compared to them. Those large hands of his were heavily calloused and what Mole could see of his dark skin were patches of burn scars as if he were caught up in a Dust explosion. The giant's crystal blue eyes pierced through the hazy dust filled air. Mole couldn't guess at the grim expression they held.

The other visitor had been much more subtle and yet equally fascinating as his partner. Mole had briefly locked eyes with the young man only for him to look away out of disgust. He understood. His smile had that effect even amongst his fellow tunnellers. The young visitor who stood as if he owned the Quarry puzzled Mole. His strange appearance was in itself a contradiction, or so Mole thought. He wore fancy clothes and had a clean handsome face like a true noble. Yet, he walked barefooted like Mole. Feet smeared in grime and filth. Mole wasn't sure what to make of that. Granted, he didn't have long to ponder it. The bell rung through his level, announcing lunch's end.

Mole went to collect his gear before returning to his tunnel. Deep in the caverns and out of sight from the overseers were the most dangerous places to be for lone workers. It was where the mean men and women liked to operate. People like them were on every level. Each their own separate gang. Yet they did the same thing. Extorting the weak, taking from their rations and forcing their own work onto them. Any who resisted were found beaten or worse. Mole often heard the screams of their victims echoing throughout the caverns. Even long after the deed was done those screams remained as if trapped in the stone.

The big bad on his level of the Quarry was some faunus named Vance. Rumors said he was once a member of some faunus rebellion group until his own extreme actions had him excommunicated and eventually arrested. Him and his gang of thugs often looked upon Mole with contempt. Yet none of them ever bothered Mole for he was a tunneller. One of the Foreman's favorite. His mole front teeth for which he was named proved quite useful in the excavation of tunnels. A talent the Foreman drooled over. None would lay a finger on Mole else risk the Foreman's blunt wrath. That didn't stop their hateful gazes from tracking him as he went by. Mole hurried past them, lantern in hand. The isolation of his own personal tunnel was heaven to him. Here he was safest. Only another tunneller child could crawl through to reach him. No other could fit.

Reaching where he left off, Mole started chipping away with his pickaxe once again. He hoped to reach another vein of Dust by the day's end. Then the Foreman will take over giving him a reward based on how large the vein and type of crystal. Red was the most common and often the most destructive to handle. A vein of yellow or white crystals proved the rarest to find.

The lantern provided enough light to eliminate the crushing sensation most tunnellers got when stuck in a tight-fitting space for a long time. That's what often saw the end to most. More so than choking Dust or tunnel collapsing. It wasn't uncommon for workers to be found twitching in a puddle of their own making. The shakes people called it. An overwhelming fear that seized control of the body and buried the mind. Mole was determined not to fall victim to it. He had little fear of the cramped tunnels. He had been born in such a place. What he feared was retirement.

When tunnellers got older and grew into their new large bodies they lost their value. The Foreman set them aside without a second thought. Unwanted and unneeded. Without the grace of the Foreman's protection most former tunnellers became victims of the mean men and women who glared at them for years. Some Mole heard found refuge with other gangs comprised of kindlier folk, yet just as strong. Such groups however, were outnumbered by their hateful cousins and Mole knew of no such kindly folk on his level.

There would be no protection for him. Mole had no family left or friends to begin with. Vance and his hateful bunch will pounce on him for sure. Unless, he manages to escape before then. Mole often thought about it. Escaping. The impossibility of such a task proved daunting enough for Mole to forgo any attempt. However, the visit by the two guests today revitalized his desire. A whole world existed outside this Quarry. One full of such strange people like the giant and the prince. One he wished to see without the dust sheathed lenses of his goggles.

Mole dreamed about standing on the precipice of the Quarry pit, looking down on his fellow workers like a god. With the flick of his hand he'd set them all free. All but the mean men and women who wanted to hurt him.

The only thing that kept that dream alive was the whispers of a story he heard long ago. It was scarcely talked about because if the Foreman heard about it then he'd have you killed or worse. He'd chop of your toes and fingers. Gauge out your eyes and leave you to crawl blind and hobbled in the caverns with only your ears to listen to your own cries. The gruesome punishment was thought to be a spook story told by the elders of the Quarry to make it seem like their telling of the tale invited more risk than it actually did. Mole however, had come across such fated people in the deepest most forgotten parts of the caverns. Or so he thought. All he heard were their strangulated groans and groping stumps in the dark. Mole had fled before coming any closer.

Still, such a punishment did not dissuade all. The seniors of the Quarry cared little for themselves or the Foreman's wishes and so the story was told in hushed whispers. The story of the one person who ever escaped the Quarry. It was many years ago, long before Mole was born. He had been a tunneller like him. The Foreman's favorite. Rumor is he disappeared in his own tunnel never to be seen again. Not uncommon. Yet when it was discovered he had stolen weeks' worth of rations and supplies the Foreman sent others after him. The tunnel he disappeared in stretched on seemingly forever. All sent were forced to crawl back or risk the shakes. To hear the old timers tell the tale the boy had tunneled his way to the end of the world where he emerged a full man grown.

Mole thought about that story more often of late. In its repeated telling the desire for escape grew until it was all he could think about.


	11. Chapter 10

The Craft District was an unattractive site choking on smoke and covered in soot. The only color to the district were the fiery flares of the workshops occasionally brightening the charcoaled streets. Captain Ashur preferred the green of the forest over this pallid place. Still, the grim setting was a small price to pay for the sheer invention birthed here. Thanks in no small part to Marcus Vulcan. Even an old-fashioned man such as Captain Ashur could see that.

His Lieutenant approached from behind, "Captain, its time."

Ashur looked over the faces of his Rangers, faces he's known for years. Expressions blank, eyes focused on the battle to come. Their enemy were brutes to hear the City Guard tell it. Savage and ferocious. But to those sorry excuses for security a kitchen mouse might appear threatening. The Rangers live and serve outside Refuge's cozy walls. They fend off bandits and Grimm on a daily basis. How could these revolting citizens hope to stand a chance?

Still, it wasn't wise to rush in without proper recognizance. Any good commander knew that. Underestimating the enemy was flirting with disaster and the Captain was no flirt. So, he sent scouts to hover just on the edge of the Craft District and observe their enemy. They were more organized than he anticipated. These Mud District folk had at least one person on their side who knew what they were doing. They quickly spotted the Ranger scouts and not long after that they reinforced their patrol. Wooden clubs were quickly traded in with military grade assault rifles. There'd be a fight, no doubt about it. At least he knew now why they were dragged into this in the first place. The City Guard have grown lazy and soft behind their walls. Unfit it seemed to even maintain control over their own city.

The Ranger Division were spread thin throughout the surrounding landscape. It took the better part of the night for the whole Division to gather. Little over forty good men and women, called in to clean up other people's messes. To end this doomed revolt while it still slept coiled in its crib. The notion of stomping out the flame of whatever sparked this rebellion didn't sit well with Captain Ashur. Yet, perhaps it was best this way.

They waited for midnight tucked away in the shadow of a Vulcan Industries workshop. The cover of night would give them the advantage to infiltrate the Buffer and close the distance before the patrol even knew they were there. The Mud District may be organized but discipline is something achieved over years of hard training. Ashur knew, once their assault broke through their patrol, panic and confusion would grip the rest and they'd scatter to the wind. At least he hoped. If they were foolishly brave enough to stand their ground then it would mean unnecessary bloodshed.

With a sigh, Ashur addressed his Rangers. "Remember, our job is just to drive them out of the Buffer. No killing unless as a last resort. We need this to be quiet. The less blood spilled the better." Affirming nods followed by another routine check of their weapons. Satisfied, the Captain led his Rangers out from their hiding place. Few wandered the Craft District this time of night and those that did kept to themselves. They all averted their gaze as if paid to do so. The thought made him sick. These workers weren't as lucky as those in other districts. They couldn't feign ignorance like the rest. They knew. They saw. All they could do was focus on their work. Let the whirring of machines and cranking of gears block out the noise to come.

Nearing the Buffer, the Captain unsheathed his khopesh. The crescent blade gleamed from the flying sparks of the smithies. The nicked and scratched blade was a mirror of the wielder. Old and scarred both were. Their history written there for any sharp-eyed opponent to see and fear. He spun the curved sword in his hand, letting the motion stir awake the muscles in his wiry arms. They turned the corner, just a few strides away from the Buffer only to find someone barring their path.

He stood directly on the border as if waiting for them. A sentinel in the dark. His sudden presence startled the Rangers to a halt. With eyes raised to the stars he spoke. "It's a fine night, isn't it, Ashur?"

Captain Ashur bristled and with a curt gesture his Lieutenant cracked a glow stick and tossed the thing forward. It rolled to a stop in-between them and the stranger. Its dim light illuminated the scene crimson, bringing out the ruddy tinge to the stranger's hair. The young man's face remained fixed on the sky above. His ragged attire matched that of someone from the Mud District, yet there was something familiar about it. The remains of a uniform, parts of which were singed black. The blue insignia imprinted on the jacket's shoulder marked him as a recruit. Ashur's gaze held on that insignia. He was not alone in his recognition. Other rangers behind him murmured in surprise. Their confusion bordered on fear. Fear in realizing that this stranger was no stranger at all.

The Lieutenant stepped forward, her crossbow lowered. "You…You're the Stroud kid, aren't you?" The young man at last wistfully pulled his attention away from the stars. His once pale skin had been tanned. A thin beard aged him some, but those perceptive eyes remained the same. He stood in the tattered uniform like a corpse that had just wandered out of its grave and yet the man underneath looked more filled with life than Ashur had seen in him before.

He smiled of all things, "Despite the circumstances…Its still really nice to see you all again."

Ashur cleared his throat. "Sanguine-"

"That's not my name anymore. Its Buckets now."

"Buckets?" Ashur repeated the name in disbelief.

"I know it sounds silly, but it's grown on me."

"What are you doing here?" asked Ashur, his throat dry.

"I actually came to ask you the same thing. Didn't think Rangers ever ventured into the city."

"We don't."

"Then why are you here?"

"Technically, we're not. Records still show we're outside the city. Business as usual."

"A shadow mission then?"

"That's what our employer wants." Said the Captain.

"Thought the Rangers reported directly to the government."

"Who do you think I was talking about?"

Buckets' smile waned, "Have things really gotten that corrupt since I've been gone?"

"You've been gone a long time." Said Ashur reluctantly, "But things have been like this for way longer. You would've learned that once you joined our ranks." A sad smile crept onto his face. "You were going to be the best of us Rangers. What happened? The human snot, Webb, said you simply disappeared over night."

"In a way, I kinda did. I live here now, Ashur. The Mud District is my home." His hand fell gently onto the grip of the baton at his hip. The hole punched metal tube caught the light. _Nameless._ _Gods, to know the name of your opponent's weapon speaks volumes to their reputation._

"You're with them and yet you still wear your uniform?"

"With it came an oath to protect the people of Refuge. I still hold to that oath. Do you?"

Ashur couldn't meet the young man's eyes. He stood there a ghost painted red. A reminder of all that he once believed in. "You must understand. We have orders."

"You don't have to follow them." Pleaded Buckets, "Please. I know you, Ashur. You don't want this. You know this isn't right. What's being done here in this city."

"You think we'll rebel? Now?!" He shook his head, "You have no idea the fight your in."

"We can win."

Ashur scoffed, "With you on their side, maybe. But I know you just as you know me. You don't have the stomach for this. Your enemy is deeply rooted in every level of this city's infrastructure. To beat them you would have to tear it all down. How many will be crushed beneath the rubble, I wonder?"

The young man flinched as if struck. "There's another way. There is always another way."

"I wouldn't count on it." Mumbled Ashur. The words tasting like bile on his tongue.

"I won't ask any of you to disobey your orders. Just…delay them. Barter for time. Come up with an excuse. Anything."

"What would be the point? Eventually they'll come down here and force us to attack and there won't be any delaying them then. Right now, we're needed here to clean up what the City Guard can't handle. And if not us then they'll just send someone else."

"What if your needed elsewhere?"

"What do you mean?" asked Ashur.

Buckets examined the rangers behind him, "You're all here. The whole Ranger Division." An idea sparkled in his eyes. "Can you delay it? Just for a couple of days."

"To what end?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out."

"This is nuts."

"Can you do it, Ashur?"

The Ranger Captain sheathed his blade. "I can get you a few days."

"Thank you. All of you." Buckets turned to leave.

"Wait." Called out Ashur, "There's something you should know. Your father, he's been looking for you."

"He came in person?"

Ashur bit back his reply, knowing the answer would only wound him.

Buckets nodded to himself. "Thought so. If he calls on you again just tell him, I'm where I belong."

"Will he understand?"

He shrugged, "I suspect not." After one over the shoulder wave Buckets set off until he vanished from the small radius of the glow stick's light.

Behind Ashur his Rangers stirred. "Captain, what will we do when we run out of delays and are forced to move in?" The fear in the Lieutenant's voice infected the rest of the division and rightly so.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

* * *

Buckets leaned back against the bar with a bemused smile. This morning people had gathered here worried and scared. Now they sang and danced without a care in the world. Coll had cracked open the barrels and let the frothy ale flow. Buckets spotted his friend making his way from table to table refilling empty tankards with a pitcher. For the first time in years, night had come and Coll wasn't stone-faced drunk to greet it. That alone was enough to make Buckets happy.

The innkeeper plopped on the stool next to Buckets, "If these people don't leave soon they'll drink this place dry."

"Isn't that good for business?"

"Yeah, but then there'll be none left for me." Buckets laughed only to quickly realize Coll wasn't joking. The innkeeper refilled his pitcher from the barrel tap resting atop the bar. "I don't know when I'm gonna be able to restock. I'm not Old Gran, I can't grow this stuff out of the mud. And with things so strained right now I doubt I'll hear from my man in the Flower District."

Buckets stirred his tankard and watched the creamy liquid slosh around inside. "Don't worry about it. We'll figure something out. We always do."

"That's the thing. I can't not worry about it. I'm too fucking clear headed. How do you people stand being sober all the time? Its torture."

"It ain't that bad, surely."

Coll stifled a grunt, "Speak for yourself."

Seeing a patron wave him over, he set out, refilled pitcher in hand. When he was out of earshot Buckets muttered into his drink. "I always do." After taking a sip he spoke up, "Going to lurk there all night, Clementine?"

From behind the bar Clementine stood from a crouching position. "Caught me then?"

"Saw you sneak in through the backdoor. You're not as stealthy as you might think. Especially with that purple flair your wearing. If everyone wasn't drunk out of their minds they would've spotted you as well."

Clementine stared out across the inn. "What in the world happened here?"

Buckets grinned and motioned towards the dancing crowd in the inn's center. "She did."

They formed a circle, arms interlocked and moving in a spiral. Ale spilled out from the dancers' tankards splashing themselves and any who got close. Their legs kicked in the air and stomped on the floorboards in rhythm to whatever it was they were singing. The ale had long since slurred their words to gibberish, but the toon was catchy enough to keep them going. Interlocked in that circle and leading the merry band was none other than Kiera. Her eyes were as wide and as delightful as her smile. With one arm she held up one of the old Boyle brothers who looked more hammered than the rest combined. On her other side, dangled a kid who somehow got thrown into the mix. His legs kicked into the air and he laughed with every bounce.

"The ale calmed them." Said Buckets, "But she riled em back up only in a completely different mood. This morning these people were anxious and uncertain. They were too afraid to address the elephant in the room so they argued about everything else. Then she comes along, cracks open the casks and the whole room lightens up. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"You sound in love." Observed Clementine.

"And you sound distant. Kiera got your message. What happened out there? What did you and Runt find?"

"What makes you think we found anything?"

"Why else would you be skulking about?"

Clementine observed the joy in the room yet there was none of it in his eyes. "Best it wait till morning when everyone has sobered up. I'm still mulling it over myself."

Buckets nodded his understanding, "Where's Runt then?"

"My place. Sleeping. At least I hope so. He's exhausted. How are things at the Buffer? Any trouble?"

"Some. Earlier today Naz and his Mudslingers spotted several strange looking men at the border. None entered the Buffer, but they looked to be watching us. Gauging our strength. Trying to find a weakness in our defenses. I mixed up their patrol routes to prevent them from finding any patterns. But you should know, Naz armed his guards with the guns Sned had acquired."

"How? I thought they were hidden someplace safe."

"They were. I gave it to them."

"You what?" seethed Clementine, forcing his outburst to a hush.

"Those weren't typical City Guard at the border. They were Refuge's elite. The Ranger Division. Just the scouts by the look of them, but the rest were sure to follow. If they had decided to attack in full force, the Mudslingers would've needed all the help they could get."

"Have the Rangers made any moves since?"

"They tried. At the stroke of midnight they moved to invade, but I intercepted them. Managed to convince Captain Ashur to stand down, for the time being anyway."

"That was less than an hour ago." Clementine considered for a time, "Anyone else know about this?"

"None. Kiera did such an excellent job here…I didn't want to start them panicking all over again."

"Perhaps it's for the best then." Decided Clementine.

Buckets stroked his stubble in thought, "I bought us some time, but it won't last. Fighting the whole Ranger Division would be…unfavorable. We should avoid that at all costs. I've been thinking of ways to draw the Rangers away. To make them needed elsewhere. Yet, I can't think of anything Moss might value over the Buffer. Besides maybe an all-out attack on one of the hamlets in the glades, but that's out of the question."

"I might have some ideas." Suggested Clementine, "Tomorrow morning. Same place we met last time. Drag Kiera along if you can."

"She won't like that."

"She'll want to know what we have to say."

Something in his voice made Buckets uneasy, "She'll be there."

"Good." Clementine backed away, "Nice work today." He let the words slip out like an afterthought before disappearing the way he came.

* * *

It took another couple hours for the place to die down. Celebration was a scarce thing in the Mud District. There was hardly ever anything worth celebrating and when there were the resulting gatherings more closely resembled wakes. Yet tonight was a party. One that carried on into the nocturnal hours of the morning. By its end all who remained were Buckets, Coll, and a handful of drunken patrons.

Buckets found Kiera passed out under a table, an empty tankard held close to her chest. He nudged her, but she didn't move. Curious, he tried prying the tankard from her grip. She held on tight, her grip deadlocked.

She stirred, "Let go."

"It's empty, Kiera."

"Huh?" she held the tankard over her head, peering up at its bottom with one eye. That eye squinted then slowly closed. Kiera drifted to sleep in a matter of a few seconds. Her arm laxed and the tankard hit her face, jolting her awake once more. She looked around confused for a moment before finding Buckets still kneeling beside her. "Look what I found." Kiera reached into the folds of her baggy pockets and pulled out a pair of wooden dice. "Come on, do it for me, will you?"

"It's not a party trick."

"Bah," she tossed the dice into the tankard and clasped a hand over its top. Kiera shook the tankard back and forth before slamming it upside down onto the floor. "Go on, call it."

Buckets sighed, "Six and a three."

Kiera lifted the tankard revealing a two and a one. She squinted at the dice as if the whole world had ceased making sense. If he had not roused her again then perhaps she would've stayed that way all night. Hunched underneath a table glaring at two innocent die pieces as if they just murdered her dreams.

"Come on," said Buckets, "Let's get you to bed."

Kiera snapped to and gave a lecherous smirk, "All subtly out the window then? Since when did you become so brazen?"

"Since never. You're just drunk."

"You're drunk." She retorted. Buckets slung her limp arms over his shoulders and lifted her up by her thighs. Her hot breath tickled his neck as he made his way to the stairs. "Things turned out alright didn't they?"

"It was fun." Replied Buckets, "Thanks to you."

Kiera hiccupped, "I don't remember the last time I danced."

"Doubt you'll remember this time either." Making it to his room on the third floor, Buckets slid Kiera off onto the bed before sitting down himself. He rubbed at his tired eyes. So much on his mind pulled at him. The arrival of the Rangers threatened their security here and he suspected that whatever Clementine and Runt found would be even worse. For once in a long time, tomorrow wasn't something Buckets was looking forward to. He caught his reflection in _Nameless'_ metal tube that leaned against his chest at the foot of his bed. Buckets remembered when he first gripped that baton. When he first wielded it with his family's eyes upon him. The power-

A hand reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt. With a yank, Kiera dragged him away from melancholic memories and down onto the bed with her.

"When this is over," she whispered, her words slurred. "We should leave this place. Just for a little while. There's people I want you to meet. They'd like you, I'm sure of it."

Buckets relaxed in her embrace, "Who?"

"My family…Back on that little farm of ours. My sister would've returned home by now. It's been so long. The sunrise used to paint the fields gold and when it rained, Sap would sit us by the fire and tell us stories." Her smile hid regret, "The three of us together could weather any storm."

Buckets imagined himself sitting there with them and he smiled. "You always were a happy drunk…Kiera?" Her snores blew warm air down his back. _Family, huh? I wonder what you'd say, Father…Seeing your oldest with a faunus. Would you be happy for me? I know Mother would. And you, Bianca? Forgive me, but you were always a mystery to me. How about you, Nero? Still working hard to follow my footsteps? I hope you realize as I did, that following your own path is far better than walking one that's predetermined. Always think your own thoughts and act on them and one day you may be as fortunate as I am to meet someone to share that path with._

* * *

Hangovers are never fun. Especially when dragged out of bed in the winking hours of the morning and placed in the middle of another secret meeting. Kiera's head ached. Last night was a blur, her memory spotty. She remembered Blind Shan and how she petted her tail. Such touches brought back unwelcome memories for Kiera. Ones that made her wish she could forget all over again. She remembered drinking to do just that. The next thing she knew Buckets was shaking her awake. She had a vague memory of doing or saying something embarrassing. The fact that Buckets only smiled and deflected her questioning only provoked her worrying. The bastard knew and he wasn't going to reveal any juicy secrets that easily.

All the playfulness died in its crib when they arrived at the roofless ruin far out in the Mud District's outskirts. Runt and Clementine were already there. Both wore expressions as harrowing as Grimm. Clementine did all the talking while Runt idly fiddled with a chunk of wood. Using his chisels, Runt sculpted the chunk into a piece of art. Yet he didn't even seem aware of his hands. His eyes just stared past them, looking at nothing. The more Clementine explained the more Kiera's head thudded. Her skin itched as if she were uncomfortable wearing it. His words battered against her skull. She refused to let them in. Refused to believe. They were looking at her now. _When did they stop talking?_

"Kiera, you alright?" asked Runt.

She laughed, "You're joking right? This is all one big joke meant to scare us isn't it? Well har har, it isn't funny so cut the shit."

"I wish we were joking." Said Clementine, "But there's no denying what we saw."

The ground shifted beneath her feet. Was it actually or just a figment of her imagination? Either way the rocking motion left her nauseous. She stumbled to a nearby window and vomited out into the mud. Buckets was at her side holding back her hair as she gagged. His face had stiffened as they told their story until not a trace of his signature smile remained. Buckets without a smile wasn't Buckets at all. Just a stranger wearing his clothes.

"What do you suggest we do about this?" asked the Buckets imposter.

Kiera wiped her mouth across her arm, "How is that even a question? We attack, free them all."

"I'm with Kiera," agreed Runt, "They have the numbers, but that didn't stopped us taking on the City Guard and it won't stop us now. I know the way. We lead a small team as close as possible. Take control of the lifts. From there we work our way down, level by level until everyone is freed."

Clementine clawed at his hair. Clearly, he and Runt had been arguing about this all night. "What then? We'll have thousands of former slaves with no place to go and nothing to feed them with."

Runt launched to his feet, "We have the Mud District! There's plenty of room!"

"For good reason!" argued Clementine, "Did you forget just how unstable the ground beneath our feet even is? We're fine here because there's only four of us and that's still not without risks. You want hundreds of people walking about here? They'll be swallowed up by the mud before the day is over. And that's even if we could sneak them into the city. I doubt Moss will be too enthusiastic about an army of his former slaves taking up residence. He will try and stop us if not kill us outright."

"There are other places to go." Argued Runt, "Refuge isn't the only city in Mistral."

"Maybe, but the next one is weeks away. They won't survive a trip that long. A congregation of that size will be a beacon to Grimm all over."

Kiera moved from the window, her curly hair slipping through Buckets' hands. "There are villages."

"And how many would take in a party of that size? Who would be eager to give up all their food and shelter to help these strangers? Half of which, I'd like to mention are condemned criminals. So, there's that. Any village would be just as likely to drive them away than welcome them with a hug."

"He's right." Buckets spat out the words as if they were poison. "We can barely feed ourselves here and it's only going to get harder as the days go by. Let's face the fact that they are probably safest where they are now. At least they're fed."

Kiera slammed her fist down on the table, snapping one of the boards. "How can you say that?"

"Because it's the truth, Kiera. There's nothing we can do for them right now. The best chance they got is if we fix things here first."

Kiera glanced between Buckets and Clementine, "You cowards…"

"We don't like it any more than you do."

She couldn't believe it. Clementine, she could understand. When things got down to it, the boy was cold and distant. But Buckets…He knew her history. She trusted him enough to reveal it and yet he sides against her. A dagger in the back. She watched as he curled up around himself, arms crossed and head pointing down. His face hidden to her in shame of his betrayal. Kiera wanted to hit him. Knock him to the ground. Force him to face her. But she knew that if their eyes met then she'd be forced to recognize the truth of what he was saying. From there either all the fight would die out of her or she'd rage in the face of that terrible truth and likely lash out.

Runt dropped his sculpture and tools as if he just realized what they were doing. He stared at his open palms before clenching them tight. "I won't sit idly by twiddling my thumbs."

"I never said we'd do nothing!" Clementine's icy tone gripped them all. "If we're going to do this," he continued, "we do it right. Together. And we won't just bring down the Quarry. We'll bring it all down. Right on top of their heads. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say and then decide. I won't oppose anything you three agree on, but allow me the chance to convince you there's a better way."


	12. Chapter 11

"You what?" Spool tried and failed to contain his surprise. "You've written an entire song by yourself in this week alone?"

Clementine did his best to calm his old friend, but Spool always got hectic the day of a concert or play. "It's something I've been kicking around in my head lately. The concert has given me the motivation to actually write it down."

"I'm glad to hear it, but you can't just show up the day of the concert with a whole new song and expect everyone to learn it."

"Spool please, don't insult your own band. They can sight read anything flawlessly. It will be fine."

Everyone backstage had stopped to watch them. The added attention made Spool visibly sweat. He composed himself as if he were the picture of calm and nodded. "Fine. I'll pass it along to the others. It will be the last song to wrap up the night."

Clementine handed his mentor a folder bursting with music sheets. "Thank you, Spool."

"Pfft, just do your best out there and if you lose your place, then just wave your arms around until you can recover. The band can keep themselves going and the audience won't be able to tell the difference."

"We got a full house tonight?"

"As full as it gets." Answered Spool, "Now go get ready. Go on, scram."

* * *

The concert proceeded smoothly. Every song carried into the next with barely a breath in-between. No intermission, no announcements, no break of any kind. The music flowed as one with Clementine's own hands. He stood on the conductor's podium for two hours. The spotlights shined down on him. The wooden grip of the baton slickened in his palm. His back faced the audience. Not once did he turn towards them. In his mind, the rows of red velvet seats were packed and the small clutch of musicians before him thundered with the sound of a full orchestra. Another magical night in The World Theatre. This time, Clementine was right in the middle of it.

The lights dimmed as they reached the last song, his song. Silence gripped the theatre like a held breath waiting to be released. Clementine's hands, stone steady, stretched that silence. He could feel it. The anticipation building up inside not just himself but the men and women of the band. All eyes were glued on him. Fingers held over valves. Bows poised above strings. None fidgeted an inch. Clementine closed his eyes. His vision was black but that did not stop Clementine from seeing the room around him. The light glowing in his fellow musicians. Their bubbling passions. Clementine reached out and gently took hold of them.

His hands moved on their own. One, two, and it began. Every sway of his hands coerced those feelings forward. Clementine drew them out one by one as if inviting friends to play. They spun to the song. A waltz. The more they danced the more they blended together, eventually becoming one sound…One will. The music was strange to Clementine's ears. Somehow different than how he imagined it in his head. Underneath that ballroom energy lurked something unexpected…something dark. The band had become clay in Clementine's hands and his fingerprints were showing.

Terrified, he tore himself away. His eyes snapped open and his hands twitched. The band slipped as if the carpet was swept away right underneath their feet. They stumbled only for a measure, but there was no hiding the slip up. Even a tone-deaf fool could spot the mistake. Swallowing what felt like a large rock in his throat, Clementine continued. The band followed his lead but the energy was lost until finally the waltz crawled to its end.

The applause seemed to mock him. Without turning to bow with the rest of the band, Clementine rushed off stage. His own sweat burned cold against his back, sticking to his dress shirt which he had just recently cleaned from his trip outside Refuge. Clementine made a bee-line for his sheeted dressing room. He plunged his hands into the tub of water and splashed his face several times.

"Knock, knock." In the mirror Clementine spotted Spool behind him. "You shouldn't beat yourself up." Said the old man, "Everything went beautifully. That last song of yours was something else. So you slipped up? Things like that happen. It was only your first try, after all. We're in a place where you fail until you succeed."

"What's done is done." Clementine turned to face him directly. "Now, can I have that name please."

"Before we get to that, there is someone asking for you."

"Who?"

"I can't rightly say. A woman from the audience. She asked if she could see the young conductor."

"I'm not here."

"No, I'll have none of that. Engage a little, Clementine. Meet your fans. Meet your critics. What's the point otherwise? Now she's asking for you specifically. It would be rude to deny her."

Clementine hissed in frustration, "Two minutes. That's it."

Spool held a hand over his heart, "I promise I won't try to delay you any further."

"So who is it?"

"The stagehand she sent said to just look in the front row and we won't miss her."

The two of them parted the curtain and peaked out into the theatre. Most were still clearing out if not already gone. Clementine's eye was drawn to the woman as easily as spotting a diamond in a box of pebbles. It wasn't just her beauty that stood out to him. It was her posture. The way she sat, her long raven hair cascading over alabaster skin.

Clementine cleared his throat, "Ever seen her before?"

"Never." Spool chewed on his lip, "Perhaps she's a lost tourist?"

"Does she look lost to you? No, she wanted to be here. She purposely sat in the front row. Maybe even in that exact seat."

"Do people accidently sit in the front row?" questioned Spool.

"That's not what I mean. She's deliberate in everything she does. Meticulous without even trying. Not one to waste her own time."

"And yet she sits patiently waiting for you."

Without bothering to look away Clementine readjusted his vest and hair.

Spool narrowed his brows, "Careful Clementine."

"Of what?"

"Listen to us old folk when it comes to matters like these. For if love is a battlefield, then we are the veterans. Just trying to keep a confident recruit from stepping on a landmine."

"Two minutes." Clementine repeated it more as a reminder to himself than anything.

With a flourish, he pushed past the curtain. Ten strides away she spotted him and immediately stood. The motion elegant and fluid. She wore a plain black dress that fell to her ankles in a number of folds. A strange leather pouch hung from her neck. Slate colored eyes regarded Clementine's approach. He held out his hand and she took it, her skin warm to the touch.

"Augustus Clementine, may I ask your name?"

Full pink lips parted to reveal a white smile, "Ira Glass."

"Mrs. Glass."

"Ms." She corrected.

"What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to compliment you. Your command over the orchestra was nothing but superb. Was it intentional to proceed at such a pace? Other concerts I've seen have had breaks to say a few words here and there."

"Tonight, was all about the music. We wanted the notes to speak for themselves. No need for words."

"I found that last song especially breathtaking. The stagehand told me you wrote that piece yourself. In a week, no less."

"I did." Admitted Clementine with little hubris.

"Music is foreign to me, but I take an interest in learning how things become. So tell me, how did you manage it?"

"Manage is not the word I'd use. I try to control my life far too much already. My music is an outlet for me to let loose. From heart to the page it went, with no filter."

Ms. Glass slowly retook her seat, "Then I worry for you. If that song was a projection of your heart, that is. I couldn't help but notice something haunted in the piece. The way the tune dragged at parts seemed lethargic. It was as if you meant to mock the concept of a waltz itself."

Clementine sat in the seat next to her, "The intent of the song is just as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Though I share your sentiment."

"Is that common for song writers? To not know their own intentions."

"Art leaves itself to interpretation. The artist can go into something with certain ideas in their hearts. However, the final result could be something beyond the artist's original conception. It's a matter of perspective I suppose. The same image could be seen a thousand different ways. That's why a picture is worth a thousand words."

"And your piece? What words do you think its saying?"

"You tell me."

Ms. Glass considered for a time. "I heard laughter. Bitter and cynical. As if it despised its own position. Can't say I've ever been to a concert with such satire."

"Have you been to many concerts?"

She leaned back in her chair, "Like you, I try to control my life. Yet often I find that my life controls me."

"How so?"

"Responsibilities of the schedule require my attention. My work keeps me busy. On occasion when I do have free time I find it difficult to occupy it. Sometimes, like today, I wander the city. My hope is to try something I've never done before or go someplace unexplored."

"What brings you to the World Theatre?" asked Clementine out of genuine curiosity.

"In truth, it was the vacancy that drew me in. The Flower District is full of bustling people. So noisy. I wanted someplace quieter where one might enjoy a simple conversation." Her smile caressed Clementine's very soul.

"You've come to the right place."

"I'm glad for it." She reached into her hand bag and pulled out a long straight pipe. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Don't let me stop you."

Ms. Glass opened the pouch around her neck and wiggled inside with her pointer finger and thumb. She grabbed a pinch of some pink herb and packed it into the bowl of the pipe.

"What is it?" asked Clementine.

"It's called Rotwheat. A plant found only here in Mistral."

Clementine wrinkled his nose, "Rot…Wheat?"

She laughed sweetly, "I know. It's not nearly as bad as it sounds. Many dismiss Rotwheat because it has no obvious medical use and has gained a reputation for being poisonous, hence the name. Which it can be if chewed directly off the stem like some cow. But grounded down and smoked its quite harmless. It eases the flow of the brain. Doesn't deaden it like many other more vulgar narcotics. It relaxes my anxieties and allows me to think clearly. I'm afraid I've grown rather addicted to it."

"May I try some?" asked Clementine.

A hint of surprise flickered across her face before she smiled and handed him the pipe. Ms. Glass took out a custom metal box containing matches. With a single flick across the side she lit a match and held it over the bowl, cupping one hand around it to protect the flame. Clementine brought the thing to his lips and breathed the resulting fumes. His taste buds cheered. It was like a cornucopia on his tongue. Fruity, with just the right balance of sweet and sour. He relished that taste before blowing it out. "It's good."

She giggled, "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm sorry, was that weird of me? It's hard to tell. So many social rules and norms, I can't keep track of them all."

"Sharing a pipe with someone you've only just met? Its peculiar, I'd say."

"I have a natural curiosity." He handed her back the pipe, "Thank you for the kind words and the Rotwheat, but I should probably go now. Will I see you here again, Ms. Glass?"

"Rarer things have happened, Augustus."

Clementine nodded appreciation and took his leave. He had to resist the urge to continuously glance back at Ira Glass as he went. Spool was waiting right where he left him. The old man's sly grin made Clementine nervous. "Got nothing better to do old man?"

Spool methodically tapped his watch, "Five minutes."

"Come on, then. I held up my end of the bargain."

Spool gestured to Adriane who Clementine only just noticed. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her all night. Strange for the stage manager to be absent the night of a concert. Adriane said nothing as she pulled out a letter from her jacket pocket and pressed it into Clementine's chest before moving past him. The letter fell into his hands. He turned to say thanks but she was already leaving.

"What was that about?" asked Clementine as he watched Adriane make her way to the lobby.

"Best not to ask. And just be thankful you got what you wanted."

Clementine held the letter before him. A thin piece of paper in which everything hinged on. "Any advice before I go?"

Spool clasped a hand on Clementine's shoulder. "Be careful of this person you're going to meet. Take whatever he says with a grain of salt."

"You distrust him that much?"

There was a hint of worry in Spool's kindly features. "Just be careful."

* * *

The trees passed one by one. The speed of their travel blurred the greenery, yet Tanner saw it. A shadow danced behind the cover of thick woods, moving in parallel with the convoy. Drawn by the streak's appearance, the young mercenary at the wheel squinted out his driver's side window. Whatever it was moved to fast for him to discern its shape. Unknowingly following his gaze, the truck drifted off track.

"Eyes on the fucking road, dumbass!" snapped Brock from the passenger seat.

Jarred to attention, Tanner steadied the truck back on the bumpy dirt road. "Sorry." He mumbled.

"Sorry." Mocked Brock, "Sorry for what? Almost getting us killed because you couldn't keep your day dreaming under control?"

"That's not it," stammered the young driver, "I-I thought I saw something."

"Ain't nothin' to see out there."

"Well I saw something."

Brock reached for the rifle mounted behind them. "Grimm?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

"How many?"

Tanner resisted the urge to glance out the open window. "Just one."

"Pffft," Brock leaned back into his seat and kicked his legs up onto the dashboard. "One ain't nothin' to worry about."

"But without the Rangers-"

"Screw the Rangers." Brock lowered his sleeping blinders back over his eyes. "You think we need them to defend us? Maybe once they were somethin' but the years have dulled their edge. They've long since become obsolete. Hardly any of them left."

"If what you say is true, then why were they called into Refuge?"

"Probably to clean out some piss pots. Who cares?"

"I don't think so. They're needed and someone with enough power to pluck an entire division out from their posts thinks so as well." Tanner regretted the words even as they leapt off his tongue. Each one slapped Brock in the face like a wet sponge. The older man raised his blindfold, exposing one eye and leaned across so that his face was inches from Tanner's own. He was so close Tanner could hear the grinding of the man's teeth.

"You sayin' I'm wrong?" Whispered Brock.

Tanner fought to control his expression. The slightest sign of dismissal would set his partner off. Not an uncommon occurrence. Brock had always been a dim man, quick to anger. Everyone knew it. He's only gotten worse ever since the Foreman bashed Herb's head in. Tanner was there that day, loading trucks when the kid in the purple suit and his giant bodyguard showed up. He watched it happen. He helped Brock carry Herb's body away. Even helped the man burry his one and only friend. No order forced him to do so. A small gesture of compassion he decided to show the bitter man. Tanner had no idea Brock would latch onto that kindness with claws of steel. That night Brock had wormed his way into Tanner's passenger seat.

Ever since then he's been a badly tempered thorn in Tanner's side. And he couldn't even bring himself to hate the guy. The truth was that underneath the anger, Brock was nothing more than a sad lonely man clinging to any good thrown in his direction as if it were a lifeline. Made Tanner sad more than anything else. He turned away from Brock's snarling grin and faced out the window once more. The Grimm or whatever it may have been was gone. In the rearview mirror Tanner took note of the four other trucks trailing behind. Each one fitted with a pair. A driver and a guard. He wondered if they suffered similar conflicts as him and Brock.

"I don't know if you know or not, but there was a time when the streets of Refuge knew and feared my name. Back in the good ol' days. I was a Brock, the collector. The best at what I did. Crackin' skulls and takin' what's owed. You're young so you probably don't remember much. Things weren't as borin' as they are now."

"Yeah," drawled Tanner, "So you've said a thousand times. What was so glorious about those good old days anyway? Aren't you paid more now?"

"Piss on that. The pay doesn't matter. It never did. Respect. That was the principle. What respect do we get hidden all the way out here? We guard unlucky shits from themselves. We deliver what they scrounge up. If we do it on time we get to spend a night rollin' around with the finest the Flower District has to offer. Like a pet getting' a reward after performin' a trick. We call ourselves Ophidians, serpents of the pit. Bah, don't make me laugh. We're nothin'. My names forgotten now. Same with everyone else's. I remind them of what we used to have and that's why they all hate me. Herb was the only one on patrol duty who understood. But now...Now-The fuck you doin'?" snarled Brock.

It took a moment for Tanner to realize Brock wasn't addressing him. He followed Brock's gaze ahead where a man sat in the middle of the road. When Tanner began to slow down Brock growled.

"No, speed up. We don't stop for anythin'. If the idiot doesn't move, then that ain't our problem."

Shrugging, Tanner pressed down on the gas. The man up ahead didn't react at all to the charging truck heading his way. Not even after Tanner's warning honks. He just squatted in the dirt, hunched over a little cookfire. About fifty feet away from the man the truck's front tires popped followed quickly by the ones in the back. Tanner let out a curse as the truck swerved. The rapidly deflating rubber tires flapped against the ground uselessly. The truck spun, kicking up a cloud of dirt.

Not a man to where his seatbelt, Brock was roughly tossed about. They slid to a stop and one end of the truck lifted from the ground. Through the windshield the world tilted. They slowed to a peak, the truck careening in the air for one dreadful second threatening to fall on its side. However, by some miracle the truck collapsed back onto all fours.

Brock slammed face first onto the dashboard, knocking him unconscious. Tanner's own head whipped hard against the steering wheel. Disoriented, he undid his seatbelt and stumbled out. The two trucks directly behind them suffered similarly, their wheels shredded. They swerved off the road, preferring to slide into a ditch rather than rear-end each other. _At least they have some sense._

Head aching and joints wobbling, Tanner tottered a couple of steps before dropping to his knees. Behind him came shouts of alarm followed by gunfire. _Attack…we're under attack. The Rangers where—Oh…_

* * *

Kiera tracked the train of box trucks ever since they left the Quarry. The last few days of scouting had revealed their typical routes. It was her job to keep tabs on them as they neared the ambush. Kiera kept pace with the trucks the whole way. Hidden just behind the trees. This far past the Spine the cracked stone mountainside had given way to a more natural forest environment like that of the glades outside Refuge except denser.

She didn't feel it when they scaled the Spine. Nor when they sought out the paths. But she felt it now.

On all fours, Kiera darted through the forest. She leapt over fallen logs, pushed off trees, and swung from branches like an acrobat. That animal instinct inside her roared its freedom. It had been too long since she last experienced this thrill. Alone and surrounded by the wild. Nature's call had set her loose. By the time the trucks approached the ambush she turned frenetic. The trap sprung and Kiera pounced on the nearest vehicle.

The driver was in the middle of exiting the truck when she slammed into the door feet first. The window shattered against the driver's head and the man lolled back into his seat. Kiera scrambled over the hood of the truck, landing on top of the other mercenary just as she turned to notice her. Kiera tackled the fang tattooed woman to the ground and continued rolling past. The mercenary was quick to recover. She lashed out with a long knife that had been sheathed at her hip. Kiera crouched low to dodge the slash and sprung up, striking the woman with her boot just below her chin. Teeth cracked and the woman's eyes rolled to the back of her head. She fell back against the truck and slumped down to the ground.

Kiera whirled at the sound of gunfire. Naz and his handpicked group of fighters were busy engaged with the rest of the trucks. The Mud District's finest brawlers swarmed the scale armored mercenaries. The Mudslinger's elite. They did their part and enjoyed every second. Spotting a man clad in snake skin loading his rifle, Kiera bounded towards him. Panic filled the man's eyes. He rushed to reload and opened fire at her. The Dust powered bullet gusted past Kiera's head. It was only her aura that kept the cutting wind from slicing her cheek. She zig-zagged the remaining distance between them, closing in fast. The mercenary raised his rifle to block, but Kiera's downwards kick snapped the thing in two. She pivoted on her palms, delivering three more sweeping kicks that sent the mercenary spinning backwards.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled like hackles rising. Its sign, a whisper of danger in her ear. She'd heard it before. Many times, back when she was just an animal in the forest. Kiera jumped into the air as fast as she could, barely avoiding a rifle blast from behind. The mercenary tracked her ten feet, twenty feet into the air where she reached her peak. Her breath caught. That one second of suspension was all the mercenary needed. He took aim and his finger squeezed on the trigger just as Naz brought his club down on the rifle barrel. The shot kicked up dirt into their faces and the mercenary screamed over his now broken trigger finger. Naz clipped the mercenary's calf, forcing the man to his knees before driving the pommel end of his club into the man's face.

Kiera landed just as the mercenary crumpled into the dirt. Naz raised his club and broke the mercenary's shooting hand. The fighting amongst the other trucks subsided. Kiera raised from her crouched position to her full height.

"Never thought I would be saying this, but thanks."

Naz hefted the heavy club over his shoulder and wiped away a stream of blood leaking down from his once again broken nose. "That looks to be the last of them."

The rest of the Mudslingers were busy restraining the snake marked mercenaries and cracking open the truck doors. Everything had gone off without a hitch.

"You did good, Naz. You all did."

Her words stunned the former gangster, she saw that despite his attempts to hide it. "We still got a long way to go."

* * *

The driver of the first truck stumbled before Buckets. Through the smoke of the cookfire the young mercenary fixed Buckets with a glazed expression.

"Sorry about this." Said Buckets. The bandana that masked his face muffled his voice.

A bemused smile found its way onto the mercenary's face. "Strange thing for a bandit to say."

Buckets chuckled, "I suppose you're right. Well, I apologize nonetheless."

The mercenary made one wobbly step towards him before something struck him in the back of the head. When the young driver hit the ground, Buckets pulled the bandana down from his face. "Nice work."

Kiera stood over the driver, her faced beaded with sweat. Twigs were caught up in the curly bundles of her hair and her pants were torn from where they were snagged on branches. Behind her the Mudslingers worked at unloading the trucks. Despite their victory, Kiera looked none too pleased.

"Are you sure this is the right move?" she asked again.

Buckets stood and kicked dirt into the fire. "Can't be sure, but I believe so. Don't you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore. Even if this plan works it will only buy us a little time, then…Who knows?"

Naz approached them both. Most would've sensed the couple's tension and waited an appropriate amount of time before interrupting. Naz however barged between them as if such things were invisible to him. The Mudslinger's nose had been broken so many times it looked disfigured. He didn't seem to care for he just wrapped another bandage around it. Buckets suspected by the time all this was done his whole head would be covered in bandages. "We've emptied the trucks." Said Naz, his voice somewhat nasally, "It's like Clementine said. Crates are marked with the Vulcan Industries symbol."

"How many trips will it take to move them all?" asked Kiera.

Naz idly scratched at his busted nose as he thought. "With the numbers we have and considering those wounded…Two. Maybe three tops."

"Get them moving now." She ordered "We won't have long."

"What of those wounded?" asked Buckets.

"A few scrapes and bruises." He pointed his club over to were a couple of others were patching up another man's bleeding shoulder. "Leff got winged in the shoulder, but it's nothing serious I think. Jules has a dislocated jaw. Frankly, we're all relieved. No one wants to hear him bitch anyway."

"And how are our snake tattooed friends?"

Naz spat some blood out of his mouth, "They'll live. Having them locked up inside their own trucks for safe keeping. Most should be secured by now. All except this one here." He reached down and grabbed the driver by the collar and proceeded to drag him away.

"He's still a brute." Commented Kiera once Naz left earshot.

Buckets nodded, "Yes, as blunt as the club he carries, but he is our brute. They all are. Mudslingers…gangsters turned soldiers. I think, just maybe they found their purpose after all."

Kiera rolled her eyes, but Buckets spotted just the smallest hint of pride in them.


	13. Chapter 12

Outside the World Theatre Runt stood and listened to the concert while at the same time fending off the ravenous questions of his two companions. They greeted him upon his arrival and stayed with him until the concert's end. Both were intrigued to meet a friend of Clementine's. Their ensuing questions bordered on interrogation. Their thirst to know every detail of his life was not at all unkindly, yet overwhelming. It was all Runt could do to defend himself. When the back door swung open it carried with it a tidal wave of relief. Clementine stepped through reading a letter in his hands. He looked up, "Monnie, Merri, did you two behave yourselves?"

"We were like angels." Smiled Merri ever so sweetly.

"You never told us you had such nice friends." Added Monnie.

Clementine nodded his sympathies to Runt, "Any trouble?"

Runt was unsure if Clementine was referring to his bodacious theatre friends or the journey it took to get here. So, he assumed the latter. "I wasn't followed. If I were I would've heard them." He gestured towards the letter, "What's that?"

Clementine tucked the letter into his vest pocket, "Tell you on the way. Good night you two."

"Farewell." Said Monnie.

"And do visit again Mr. Braun." Called out Merri. The two blew kisses in their direction as they left the World Theatre.

"They treat you alright?" asked Clementine, a touch of embarrassment reaching his tone.

"You keep some strange company."

Clementine snickered, "The two of them together can be a little much, but they mean well. I trust them."

"Are they sisters?"

"Ha! After all these years…I'm too afraid to ask. They could be mother and daughter for all I know."

Runt shook the thought from his head, "What were you reading?"

"A letter of introductions to a Mr. Roland Teal. We're to meet him at Club Bloom. It's not far from here."

"You've been?"

"Once or twice. Back in my scandalous days. It's a small, but rather prestigious jazz club. You like jazz? It's quite popular here in Refuge. That and electro swing, jazz's more modern cousin."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Admitted Runt.

"Not much of a music guy, are you?"

"It's never been a big part of my life."

"Right," said Clementine, "I suppose that makes sense."

"What do we know about this Roland Teal?" asked Runt, "Besides his taste in music."

"Apparently he was a student of Spool's for a time. Until they had some kind of falling out. Whatever happened must've been serious because Spool has never mentioned Teal once in the years I've known him. Since their departure Teal has become an influential man as it were. Someone who knows things. Just the type of person I want to talk to."

"And how do you know we're not walking into a trap?"

"Mr. Teal gave assurance that nothing will happen to us and Spool believed him. That's all the confirmation I need." He shrugged halfheartedly, "Besides, if we get into any trouble I'm sure you can punch your way out of it."

This was no time for jokes. Runt wanted to say as much, but looking down at his friend he saw the focus in his eyes. Underneath all performance of wit and optimism, he was just as tense as he was. A lot was riding on this meeting after all. Clementine had convinced them of his plan. It was a long and drawn out process but he did it. Even made Kiera relent. The future in the coming weeks will be determined by this meeting. If anything went sour it would all fall on Clementine. He convinced them to entrust the fate of the Mud District into his hands. Yet he couldn't do anything beyond his initial plan until this night. So, he dove into his theatre work. Runt recognized that escape for what it was. A distraction from the pressure he was surely straining under. Runt empathized because he too felt the same. Together, they shouldered the burden. So together they were for this meeting.

Even with the two of them united it wasn't without risk. They were out of their element and walking amongst a sea of potential enemies. Runt kept his eyes and ears open for the slightest sign of hostile movement.

Club Bloom was one of many such places that lined the streets of the Flower District. Each building saw a constant flow of people in and out through its doors, like hearts pumping blood. The sheer number of eager partygoers spilled into the streets. Any car that tried to drive past moved at a snail's pace, forced to wait for the rambunctious crowd to part before it. Club Bloom occupied the corner of the street, resting in the shadow of the neighboring casino. The amount of traffic coming from the club was nonexistent. A lone bouncer guarded the door. He held out a blocking hand as they approached.

"Invited guests only."

With a flourish Clementine slipped out the letter of introductions and neatly placed it in the bouncer's palm. "We're here to see Mr. Teal, he will be expecting us."

The bouncer glanced at the letter, but his eyes swiveled past it to inspect the two of them. His gaze held longer on Runt, measuring him as the primary threat. They always did. _You idiots, you're looking at the wrong person._

The bouncer handed back the letter and stepped aside, allowing them to pass.

"Thanks my good man." Smiled Clementine as he entered the Club.

After a sigh, Runt followed. A wave of music washed over him. The tune was far unlike anything he heard from Clementine's concert. More heavy brass than string. _So, this is jazz._ The small band on stage consisted of five sandy haired individuals all dressed in loose suits. The youngest being around Clementine's age sat behind the drum set, twirling his sticks at any chance he could. Another plucked away at cello strings, her head rocking back and forth as if in some kind prayer. The trumpeter stood as straight and rigid as a tree, his puffed cheeks cherry red. There were two saxophone players. One large one and one small. The large saxophone player took center stage, swinging to the groove of the music.

Before the stage was an array of empty tables each with a different flower resting in its center vase. That explained the aroma, which permeated the air. The motif was everywhere. Depictions of flowers were on the napkins, seat cushions, and painted onto the walls. A gorgeous depiction of a blooming rose was carved onto the very top of the ceiling. The intricate sculpt of the flower and its cascading petals took Runt's breath away.

On the far opposite side of the stage was the bar lined with high stools. The elaborate display of drinks behind it was a library of alcohol if Runt had ever seen one. The bartender made himself busy scrubbing out glasses with a cloth. Besides him and the band, Club Bloom was empty.

"I got a bad feeling…"

Clementine nodded, "I'm with you on that one."

The two of them headed towards the bar. Clementine swiveled as they walked, taking in everything much like he did out in the woods. Like a star struck child who just wandered into a candy store. His open curiosity was no charade. After inspecting the cleanliness of the glass in his hands the bartender set it down and took up another.

"What can I get for you boys?"

Clementine slid the letter across the bar's shiny surface, "We're looking for Roland Teal. Is he around?"

"He is. I tell you what, how about a Smoky Grimm?" Swiveling to the beat of the jazz music the bartender snatched up bottle after bottle, drizzling the contents into two clean glasses. The drinks spun with an impressive showmanship. Underneath those glossy white gloves of his, the bartender had steady hands. Not a drop hit the bar. The many mixtures formed an inky liquid with a dusky froth layering the top.

The bartender pushed the two glasses towards them. "On the house." When neither made a move to accept the drinks the bartender laughed. "Really, boys. I know it looks like death, but that's why it's called a Smoky Grimm."

Clementine refused to reach for the drink. Runt on the other hand took up the concoction. Ever since his trip outside Refuge his desire for a drink multiplied. If drinking this odd-looking thing meant starting the meeting off on the right foot then he was happy to risk it. The Smoky Grimm singed his throat a little going down, but it wasn't half bad. A little bitter and strong, yet it had an almost sugary aftertaste like candy. Runt took another mouthful and set the glass down.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, "Figured a place like this would be packed this time of night."

The bartender scanned the letter, "Oh, it usually is, but I had the place cleared so that we could talk alone."

A smirk creased Clementine's face, "You're Roland Teal."

The bartender slipped the letter in a draw underneath the bar. "I see Spool's got himself another clever one. Tell me, are you going to accept his offer?"

Clementine's brows narrowed, "What are you talking about?"

"You know, once upon a time I stood in your position. Spool's prodigy. He took me in when no one else would. Taught me things I never thought I would understand. He's like a father to me."

"That practically makes us brothers then."

Teal brightened, "You think so?" The words were left hanging in the air. The true intent behind them veiled in its meaning. Runt shuffled his feet. This Roland Teal was something else. Too similar to Clementine. The two of them were actors on a stage. Their range of expressions were nothing but a performance. One thing was for sure though, Teal was the first whose gaze held longer on Clementine. That fact alone left Runt uneasy.

"How'd you manage to clear this place out?" asked Runt in hopes he'd break up whatever rivalry the two seemed to hint at.

Teal faced him, "I own the Bloom Club." What otherwise could've been a boast left his lips as nothing more than simple fact.

"You're the owner? Why would a man of such stature work the bar?"

"My first paying job I was a stagehand working under Spool at the World Theatre. Now I own the Flower District. Not as glamorous as one might think at first. A large part of it is cleaning up after your customers. Wasn't what I had in mind when I was young. So, I achieved my childhood ambitions and yet am worn down by them." Teal ran a hand through his thinning pale blond hair. It was combed in a way to try and disguise the receding hairline. "So to answer your question, Mr. Braun, I miss the simple work."

"I see…" The following gap of silence was filled with the fast-paced groove of the band on stage.

Teal hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. "Do you like the music? I find that every conversation is best with some background melody. That way the pauses in-between aren't so silent. I spent a lifetime cultivating the music scene here in Refuge. Do away with all my achievements except that and I'd still die a happy man. Over the years I've become a patron for many musicians, but the Fretless Siblings over there are one of the best in the business. Now I don't mind records or CDs, but there's just something about a live performance that's rather lacking when played through the radio. Maybe it's just my upbringing in the World theatre making me biased, but live performances just have more soul. Don't you agree?"

"I don't think I'm in a position to have an opinion." Said Runt, "Music isn't my area of expertise."

"That doesn't stop most people." Laughed Teal, "It takes a wise man to know what he doesn't know. Now I'm quite detached from the Mud District, but how's the music over there?"

"Not much to sing about these days, I'm afraid."

Clementine twirled the glass in his hand and watched the black liquid swirl around inside. "My sister used to sing to me."

"But not anymore?" asked Teal.

Clementine nodded, "Not anymore." The solemn tone shift left Runt unbalanced.

"I may have misled you," admitted Teal, "I don't own the Flower District, not all of it. The World Theatre marches to its own tune. It always has. Which is a shame considering the shambled state it's in. It's one thing to deny my patronage but…Every offer I make to help repair the World Theatre, Spool throws back in my face. He's made an active effort to spurn me at every turn for some time now. Which made me curious why he reached out to me in the first place. I wondered what could make such a stubborn old man swallow years of animosity and ask for my help. And now here you are. What is it I can do for you boys?"

Clementine opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself before he could. His lips moved as if he were chewing on the words he wanted to say. Already things between him and Teal were tense. Clementine was smart enough not to try and stress things further by speaking before thinking. Yet after a few seconds of silence it became abundantly clear to Runt that Clementine didn't know what to say. It wasn't like him to be at a loss of words. Even when he was small Clementine had been clever and silver tongued, but Runt noticed a pattern with his young friend. He was prone to flights of fancy. Behind every question was a story. Some kind of poetic narrative that linked the events of his life to reality. All those stories weaving together created a complex world to live in, which made certain mundane things rather difficult. What they wanted from Teal was so simple Clementine couldn't see it.

At last Runt spoke for Clementine. "We were hoping you might help us."

Teal raised an eyebrow, "Help? Help with what?"

"I think you know."

"Why would you assume such a thing?" asked Teal, unoffended.

"Because I find it hard to believe that a man who owns one fifth of the city doesn't know what's going on within it."

"I know many things. You're going to need to be a tad more specific on what you want my help with."

"Information." said Clementine, at last finding his voice. "Information about who it is we're fighting."

"Who you're fighting?" Teal pondered a moment, "The City Guard, Refuge, the Council, civilization…a woman. Take your pick. Any of those answers would suffice."

Clementine's smile was cold, "Now I'm afraid I have to ask you to be more specific."

"What if I refuse?" taunted Teal.

"Then I'll insist."

"You don't get to insist on anything. Not here…not with me. You may be Spool's favorite now, but if you ask me, I'd say the old man's gone senile. To leave his legacy in the grubby hands of some clod unable to understand or appreciate its full meaning. His judgment must be a shadow of what it once was."

Clementine shot to his feet, his arm swiping his drink off the bar. The glass shattered in an explosion of frothy black liquor. The music screeched to a halt in an instant. Clementine snatched Teal by the bartender's bowtie and pulled him half over the bar so that their faces were inches apart. The Patron showed no surprise or alarm in Clementine's anger.

"If you are what you claim to be," said Clementine in a low voice, "then you should show Spool more respect."

Teal searched Clementine's eyes a moment and smiled. "Defending the honor of your mentor…Good, perhaps you're not so dimwitted after all. Though easy to bait."

Runt laid a hand on Clementine's shoulder. "Relax. Before you do anything stupid, look behind you."

Clementine glanced over his shoulder. The Fretless Siblings stood at the ready. Their instruments wielded as weapons in their hands. Three bells of brass were aimed their way. The drummer wielded new metal tipped sticks as if they were dual daggers. The threatening stances were clear even from across the room. The celloist was the only one to not make a move, yet her gaze remained fixed on them all the same. Clementine relinquished his grip on Teal. With a wave from their patron the Fretless Siblings returned to normal. After a brief second the music started up once again.

"Like I said, the best in the city." Teal readjusted his bowtie, "Now, I am part of a group that oversees the operations of this city. I am the entertainment. My job is to keep the people happy and distracted if need be. Casinos, clubs, brothels…I've created an environment people all over Mistral risk traveling for to experience. Now personally, I have no love for the Mud District's treatment. But do not mistake that as pity or willingness to help you."

"Then why meet with us at all?" asked Runt.

"To stop you and your little movement. But out of respect for Spool, I can only hope I can convince you. Back off. You two started something you don't know how to finish. These people I'm associated with are not to be pushed around. You think your conquest over the Buffer was some kind of victory? You're giving them the excuse they need to march into the Mud District and wipe you all out."

"Nothing stopped them from trying before." Said Clementine, his anger brushing the edges of his voice.

"Yes, I'm aware. I know all about Moss' failed attempts to drive the people of the Mud District out of Refuge. First he thought he could purge you with fire. Then he manipulated one of your own. Next time won't be as indirect."

"If Moss wants a fight he'll get one."

"Moss is a coward, which makes him dangerous in his own way, but he's not the one you should be worried about. The man already exhausted his wits trying to get rid of you lot and he only succeeded in causing this mess."

Clementine eased back into the stool, "If Moss isn't the threat, then who is?"

"Why should I tell you?" Teal's lips sharpened to a straight line across his face, "Spool tells me you're a student of history. Is there any truth in that, Mr. Clementine?"

"I like to think so."

"Then why do you wish to fight? Is your situation really that bad? The majority in Vacuo live very much like you do, yet they aren't lashing out. They endure their harsh environments and live on. What do you know of your own history? Do you even know why the Mud District became isolated in the first place? During the Great War, disease and famine quarantined the district else risk its spread. While the outside world warred with itself the Mud District withered until rats were able to overwhelm what few orphans remained. People forget that not too long-ago Remnant was ruled by humans who committed acts far more monstrous than any Grimm. Why do we forget these things? As students of history is it not our job to remind the others? Why then do we continue to fight with each other? It's because of people like you, Mr. Clementine. Those who study and learn, but do not use that knowledge to prevent future catastrophe. No, you perfect it."

Clementine's hands twitched, just barely containing his cold rage. "I don't have to look to far in the past to learn of catastrophe. I've been educated on that topic since childhood and my instructors taught by example. I'm not talking about living conditions on the Mud District. Enduring is what we've done all our lives. Enduring and tolerating. Yet, Moss attacked us. He's taken lives and put others at risk. We won't let that stand any longer."

"Moss attacked your district, yes. But it wasn't until you took the Buffer did your people become in real danger."

"You expect us to just do nothing?" asked an aghast Runt, "After all we've seen?"

"It was just one fire six years ago."

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Sorrow bled from his wounded heart and Runt stood to his full height. Behind him the brass tubing of instruments transformed until horns were muzzles pointed at his back. Runt held himself steady. For a few precious seconds, no one in Club Bloom moved an inch. Runt's pounding heart dwindled and when he spoke it was just a mere whisper. "We know about the Quarry."

Those five soft words rocked Teal more than Runt expected. He stumbled back a step. The glass in his hands slipped and shattered on the bar floor. Teal stared at the mess, his face sagging, aging him by years. "That's two glasses I lost today. What a mess...What a mess." He leaned heavily on the bar, "So, you've already had your anagnorisis. I suppose it was inevitable that someone would find it eventually."

"How can you know about a place like that and do nothing?" asked Clementine, his voice slick with venom.

"You think I can?" old hatred burned like acid in Teal's eyes, "What power I have is limited to the Flower District. Anything outside of that is beyond my reach."

"You despise it," observed Runt, "I see it…If you won't help us, then help them. We have no jurisdiction. Nothing to lose. We can change things in this city for the better."

Teal wrung his gloved hands together, "Everyone has something to lose. Even if you don't know it. Whether change is for the better or worse, its destructive regardless. Change crushes the old to move forward. You wish to bring about change then you better be the harbingers of destruction."

"We'll be whatever we need to be to succeed." Said Clementine.

Teal glanced between the two of them. His flat greenish-blue eyes hid more than they revealed. "Refuge is home to many people. Artisans, politicians, merchants, club owners...All are dependent on one thing, trade. It's what drives this city. Without it everything will grind to a halt. So no matter what you do, it won't matter unless the Tradeboss is dealt with."

"What's his name?"

" _Her_ name, is Ira Glass."

"I've never heard of her." Said Runt.

"Did you ever hear my name before tonight? That's the way things have to be now. Quiet. Ira Glass realized same as I that power in a world like ours is most effective when it is least perceived. You've been to the Quarry…Have you met the Ophidians then?"

Runt thought for a moment, "You mean the mercenaries with the snake skins and scale armor?"

"Yes, I suppose they are mercenaries. They come from a time when things here were loud. When every criminal needed a name to be shouted out and feared. Hence their childish epithet."

"Who are they?"

Roland Teal gave a careless shrug, "They are what remains. The ones who survived Ira."

"You make it sound like they were enemies."

"They were on opposite sides of the conflict, yes. The Ophidians were once hired muscle used by the criminal organizations that came before. Grunts and brutes mostly low level. When their bosses were gone and their organizations in flames they alone were what remained. Left without a voice to lead them. Or a purpose to guide them. They were given a choice to leave Refuge or stay and work for her. Many were initially opposed to signing up with their enemy but the benefits of twice the pay and half the risk wasn't too hard to sell to the majority. So, they agreed to exile themselves to the Quarry and have since become the serpents of the pit."

Clementine stood on wobbly knees that only Runt could see. "Where can we find this Tradeboss?"

"What? You plan on assassinating her?"

Clementine didn't say anything.

"Good luck to you." Scoffed Teal, "Where she lives is a closely guarded secret known only to two. Ward and Alvaro, her most trusted bodyguards. They will bite off their tongues before saying anything. Even if I did know I would not tell you. Though I don't agree with everything she's done, Ira is still my partner. She helped me build all that I have here in the Flower District."

Clementine sneered, "So you won't aid us?"

"I've helped you enough already. Too much in fact. Yet still I will gift you with one more piece of advice. For the sake of your district, stop while you still can."

Before they could get another word in Roland Teal knelt and started to clean up the broken glass. In the blink of an eye he became just an ordinary bartender. He slipped into the role with an ease that unsettled Runt. Their meeting with Roland Teal came to an end there. It had gone better than Runt expected and yet, Clementine was downcast. No matter his pestering's Clementine refused to give voice as to why. All Runt knew is that Clementine turned white as paste since the mention of Ira Glass. He stayed that way for the rest of the night.


	14. Chapter 13

The Councilor came stumbling in already stinking of wine. His cheek bled where his wife must've struck him. The Mistress recognized the cut made by the wedding band. She's seen its mark before. Without mumbling a word Moss plopped himself onto her bed. There he sat, awaiting her tender hands. The Mistress moved to close the door he left open. The jubilant laughter coming from the rest of the brothel ceased upon its shutting.

The Mistress soaked a handkerchief in her tub before moving to dab at the Councilor's face. Cool water washed the blood from the man's cheek. When this was done she started unbuttoning his shirt. It was as if he were a child come running home after falling from his bicycle. She doted on him, tending to his scrapes and undressing his torn clothing. Every need taken care of.

As she undressed him, Moss suckled on the wine bottle he brought with him. Its nectar flushed his face red. The Mistress remembered when Colton Moss first came to this city. When he stepped off the Vulcan train to be greeted by the gathered crowd of citizens she had been there. The man's reputation preceded him yet they did not do him justice. Colton Moss was far more handsome than the rumors said. A firm body equipped with a chiseled jaw. Luscious eyes the color of basil. Standing there next to his pregnant wife, waving to the welcoming crowd she thought he was the embodiment of the perfect gentleman. The years since have not been kind to him.

Once a gorgeous face sagged red and beating. Heavy lidded eyes made his expression ever squinting. A muscled abdomen gave way to a paunch belly. Refuge tore this once shining example of a man down to a lowly drunkard. As his mistress, she witnessed the transformation up close and personal over these last few years. It had not been pretty. Yet by his side she remained for she had grown use to his appetites and because Roland Teal desired it.

With the Councilor's shirt done away with the Mistress noticed the ring on his finger. This truly was a poor night for him indeed. Moss usually removed it by the time he entered her room. The mere sight of it at the wrong time would cause the man to break down into tears. She'd then have to swaddle him in her embrace for the rest of the night just to calm him down. That wouldn't do. Not for this once handsome man. The Mistress slid her hand down Moss' arm, sweeping past his finger and twisting the ring free.

Moss caught her wrist in a vice like grip and pulled her close. The spicy scent of his breath was hot against her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

"Colton, I'm just removing your-"

The Councilor's balled fist clocked her in the side of the head. Her vision spun and she fell hard onto the floor. Colton Moss readjusted his wedding band on his finger. He stood over her, chubby cheeks quivering with rage. His fist struck down at her again and her vision in one eye went black.

This was not the lustful beating he so enjoyed in her company. Those were real fists filled with drunken rage. The Mistress crawled across the fluffy carpeted floor, shouting out for help. However, the newly fixed door while keeping noise out also trapped her words in. She looked up her expression pleading only to see another fist coming her way, the ring on it speckled with blood.

* * *

Colton Moss stood facing large windows that comprised the office wall. Through simple observation one might conclude that he was watching Refuge rouse itself from sleep and that the haggard expression he wore was one born from the stresses of his lordly command over such a prosperous city. However, this was not the case. In reality, Moss stared at his own reflection in the thick glass through red rimmed eyes. His expensive clothes were in a ruinous state. The dress shirt was half tucked into corduroy pants left stained by the wine he held shakily in his hand.

The previous night was a hazy memory for the councilman. He had another argument with his wife. That was painfully clear by the broken skin of his cheekbone where his wife's wedding ring nicked him. _She was always a slapper._ Moss fiddled with his own wedding band by twisting it with his thumb. The knuckles of his fingers and backs of his palms were bruised purple. Things had gotten out of hand. Several buttons and one cufflink were lost in Moss' downward spiral. Before the sun peaked over the horizon this morning he was dragged out of bed and secreted back into his office by Ira's two brutes. _Like a dog with its leash tugged._ The thought left a acidic taste on his tongue and no amount of wine could wash it clean.

The soft chime of the elevator announced his new guest's arrival. The voice of Roland Teal was like a drill in the councilman's head. "What crawled up here and died?"

"Would you keep your voice down?" groaned Moss.

Teal chuckled sarcastically, "Oh I see. It's the councilman's dignity. That would explain the smell. Things long dead are left to rot and reek. Tell me, did you come to my establishment last night with the intention to disfigure one of my employees or was it a crime of passion?"

"She tried to steal my wedding ring!"

"She wasn't stealing it you imbecile. She was removing it for you as a gesture of kindness. According to her the sight of it while in her arms makes you weep."

Moss spun around, stumbling a few paces. "We're not in the Flower District, Teal. I suggest you watch your tongue."

"Funny," mused the other man, "I heard similar suggestions from several ladies in my employ last night concerning you. Now, Councilman Moss, if you would like continued use of my services then I suggest you keep that drunken thing coiled behind your teeth."

His words buffeted Moss, pushing him back until he pressed against the window. If the glass weren't there he might've tripped and fell fifty stories down to the Citadel courtyard. Moss meant to open his mouth to retort, but the bartender's gaze held him fixed as if his lips were glued shut. Roland Teal always dressed in his snazzy bartender's suit. As if to disguise the fact that he was anything else.

From her place on the couch Ira Glass shook her head. "You go too far, Roland. Apologize to the councilman."

Teal regarded the woman for a long moment before he turned back to Moss and smiled. "Forgive me, my words were unfair. I take them back and swallow them down my throat so that I may digest their meaning."

Sneering, Moss downed what remained of his wine. "That's disgusting."

"Quite." He made his way around the room, white gloved hands clasped behind his back. His eyes passed over the grandeur that so decorated the office without any appraisal. "So, too which reason was I summoned? I see but two. One in which you intend to scold me, the other you would seek my advice."

"I trust you heard about what happened to our last delivery on the road the other day?" asked Ms. Glass.

"Would I be doing my job if I haven't? Set upon by bandits. Relieved of their cargo, but strangely enough the bandits spared the Ophidian's lives and even left the trucks behind. Which poses some questions. What did they do with all that Dust? And who would be stupid enough to rob from us in the first place?"

Moss poured himself another drink at the minibar beside his desk. "You should know. You met with their leaders in secret last night. They sat down with you same time their men were robbing our trucks."

"While it's true I met with representatives of the Mud District, it was not in secret. If it were you wouldn't have known about it."

"Why didn't you just end it then and there?"

Teal feigned appalment, "You mean kill them? After agreeing no harm would come to them? Who then would trust my word? How could you believe anything I say after such an incident. Kill them…No, that was out of the question entirely. And as it stands there has been enough violence already. Someone needed to talk with them. Find a way to peace if such a path exists."

Ira Glass blew into the mouthpiece of her pipe to clean it out. After a few quick huffs, she brought the mouthpiece to her eye for inspection. "And does such a path exist?"

"I honestly can't say."

"What did you learn then?"

"Well there is the obvious, of course. Their motives are no great secret. They have grown tired of the attempts made upon their lives. They seek an end to it. Can you blame them?"

None spoke for some time. Ira Glass occupied herself by cleaning out her pipe while Teal wandered the office. Both were silent in their judgment of him. Moss knew that's what they were contemplating. His actions after all brought about all this. He wouldn't deny that. But what neither of these two cared to admit is that he was right in doing what he did. Their knowledge of that simple fact kept their opinions to themselves for the most part. When at last someone spoke, it was Ms. Glass.

"The Rangers have failed to carry out their task of seizing the Buffer for some days now."

"Have they said why?" inquired Teal.

"At first there were delays. More reconnaissance required. Preparations to be made for the assault. Too many gathered witnesses from the Craft District. The list goes on. When I last heard from them, Captain Ashur voiced concern over a certain individual in the Mud District. One powerful enough to give him pause. Conveniently, he failed to offer up a name for the threat. What do you make of that?"

Teal rubbed his head, gently combing his hair into a position to best hide his balding. _Pathetic._ "The Rangers are the last honorable military division Refuge has. They're soldiers, not cutthroats like the Ophidians."

Moss sipped his drink, "Meaning?"

"Meaning, they're not too happy in being ordered to kill the very citizens they were sworn to defend. My guess is that there was a parley of some kind. Between the Rangers and the people of the Mud District. I don't know which side approached who first, but they agreed to delay the attack. Long enough for the Mud District to strike at the now defenseless roads."

"That's ridiculous!" exclaimed Moss, "If these Rangers are as honorable as you say then why did they give up the secret they were sworn to never reveal to anyone?"

"They didn't, councilman. The routes were already known to the Mud District."

Ira Glass stopped fiddling with her pipe and instead leaned forward, giving Teal her complete undivided attention. "What are you saying, Roland?"

"They know about the Quarry." As if anticipating Moss' question Teal continued, "They admitted as much in my 'secret' meeting with them last night. It was foolish of them to tip their hand, but I managed to coerce them."

The Tradeboss remained silent. Her thoughts traced wrinkles across her forehead, the only sign of worry to touch her beautiful features. She always remained in control of herself if not the whole room she occupied. Moss on the other hand could not wrap his head around this revelation.

"How is this even possible?" he asked, spilling a little wine from his glass. "They had no way of discovering it."

Teal wagged a finger at him, "If your back is pressed up against a wall long enough you might attempt to scale that wall."

"Climb the Spine?" gasped Moss, "Who among them is capable of such a feat?"

"Without a doubt, the giant I met is more than capable. I suspect it is Runt Braun who the Rangers fear. Makes sense. According to the reports he singlehandedly tore through the City Guard as if they were aluminum foil."

Ira Glass leaned back on the couch. The bowl end of her pipe repeatedly tapped against her raised knee. "Braun…where have I heard that name before?"

"I was struck with a similar feeling, Ms. Glass, so I did some research. Runt Braun is the youngest child of Tysa Braun. She was a huntress who often came through Refuge during her adventures. She shared her titan size with five of her children and raised them strong. While not licensed huntsmen and huntresses, she took her children on all her missions. Together they were a family of self-trained warriors."

Glass smiled, obviously pleased by some fond memory. "Yes, I remember them now. When I was a girl my father took me to the thirtieth Vytal festival. That's where we first encountered them. A hearty bunch from what I remember. What ever happened to them?"

"What happens to all huntresses and huntsmen eventually." Shrugged Teal distractedly, "They left for a mission and never came back. Except for Runt, who promptly disappeared into the Mud District."

"He disappeared a boy and has resurfaced a man. What's your opinion of him?"

Teal thought a moment and grinned. "Smarter than he looks. He holds compassion in one hand and a stone in the other. He struggles I think, to decide which one to use."

"And the other one?" asked Ms. Glass.

Teal's smile vanished. "Augustus Clementine…Clever and young. The combination of the two makes him arrogant. He thirsts for knowledge for knowledge's sake. An unending curiosity, but an empty one at that. He wants to learn and know things, but only scratches the surface in understanding."

"You sound worried, Roland." Observed Ira Glass, "Do you think he poses such a threat?"

"Individually, no. But if those two work together…they might prove capable of just about anything."

"Thank you, Roland. I apologize for questioning your loyalties."

"I heard no such accusation, Ms. Glass."

"The thought alone was unworthy. You've been a true, loyal partner for so many years now. I hope you can forgive me for doubting you."

Teal hesitated, visibly shocked by the compliment. "There is nothing to forgive."

Ira Glass smiled at him, "We shall not waste any more of your time. Go, return to your day."

Roland Teal stepped towards the elevator but halted. "If I may. What will happen now? Marcus Vulcan will be expecting his Dust by the end of the day."

"And he will get it." She replied, "The Rangers will return to their normal duties and escort another shipment before sundown."

"This is most likely exactly what they wanted. To rid themselves of the threat the Rangers pose. If you do this then their plan has succeeded."

She waved her hand in dismissal, "Let them have their victory, for now."

Teal considered something before nodding to each of them and taking his leave. The elevator doors closed behind him and down he went. When the ground floor lit up, Moss sighed and slumped down at his desk.

"I don't trust him." He said.

"That's because he is smarter than you are. In this world of ours you shouldn't trust people smarter than yourself."

Moss snickered, "I trust you. What does that mean, I wonder?"

The smile she flashed in his direction was a mask. As fake as a whore's makeup. Still just as pretty. Moss found himself thinking of Ira more and more recently. His lust for her was no great secret, yet she either ignored its presence or was blind to such things. "It means dear councilman, you have no choice."

The councilor grunted, unwilling to offer up any reply to that for he knew the answer already. Moss knew ever since he arrived in Refuge. His first act as reigning councilman was to call a meeting of the city's leaders. Among that fell assembly were Marcus Vulcan, Roland Teal, Captain Ashur of the Rangers, and more, each a colossus in their own right. However, every last one of them paid homage to a single woman. A person Moss had not even heard of much less invited, yet she arrived all the same. The Tradeboss they called her. A leader in the shadows with knots tied to everyone present.

Moss called that meeting to assert his authority over this rogue city-state so that he may bring it back into the fold. That was his mission given to him by his peers. They granted him a seat on their precious council just to give him the authority to achieve this task. Moss used to think they did it because of his family's wealth or his promising political career in Mistral. It quickly dawned on him during that meeting that the reason was none of those things. They sent him to Refuge because they were all too afraid to go themselves. It was that day that Glass tied her own knot to Moss, this one wrapped around his throat. The councilman rubbed at his neck, pulling on the imaginary noose fashioned there.

"Without the Rangers, how are we going to drive them out of the Buffer?" His voice was a choked croak. Perhaps the noose was not so imaginary after all.

Ms. Glass had found her way to the window. The same spot he stood just minutes ago, only she did not look at her reflection. No, she stared down at the vastness of _her_ city and found it lacking. "It's a curious world we live in. Humans, Faunus…People. There exists between us such a large range of capability. Each of us as long as we bare a soul have power. One that with time and practice we can harness and master. And yet, the majority of us forsake that gift. Abandon it to collect dust. Leave the fighting for others. The ones who'll venture out and face the world's evils. We are not like our ancestors out there in the wilds surrounded by death on a constant basis. We have walls, protection, and comfort. No need to choose the warrior's life anymore.

"This creates a schism. On one side, there are the people like you and I. Those who seek power from an external source rather than internal. We are the majority. Then there are the others. The fighters. Huntsman, huntresses, rangers, and soldiers. Ones who have harnessed their internal power are equal to a hundred of us. In our numbers, we may fool ourselves into thinking us the superior force, but we merely squabble at their feet. Insects easily squashed."

Moss examined the jeweled dagger on his desk as she spoke. A gift from…someone. He'd forgotten who. His finger traced the honed edges. The design of the blade made the metal reflect in a rippled pattern. Reaching the tip his hand recoiled. A drop of blood welled from the small puncture on his finger. He stuck the thing in his mouth. Still sharp after years of neglect. A deadly weapon empowered by the Dust shard embedded into its hilt. A weapon for warriors such as Glass now described. And yet here it sat, a glorified paperweight.

"Do you understand what I am telling you?" her voice brought his attention back to her. She stood facing him. He noted the look of disappointment. It never left her face. At least not in his presence.

Moss sucked the blood from his finger before plucking it from his mouth with a wet popping sound. "That we are insects among gods, is that the gist?" He grabbed the dagger. Lifting it off its pedestal was difficult. It had been there so long it grew stuck. Moss had to exert himself to break the dagger free. Only when the mantle snapped did he realize a hinge was locking the weapon in place and now it was broken. He swung the dagger in front of him so that in his eyes the honed edge appeared to be decapitating the woman. "If what you say is true then these powerful people-these gods are merely weapons at our disposal. They have no mind of their own. They're simply…used. Just as I imagine that Braun character is being used by the boy-Peaches or whatever his name is."

Ira Glass glared at the dagger, watching as the blade trembled. Holding it with an outstretched arm required more strength than Moss' hungover state could muster so he jammed it point first into his own desk.

"You pose an interesting theory." Admitted Ms. Glass, "But you take things to literal. Imagine if you will, that a weapon has a soul…Therefore weapons can possess their own will. Don't you think? Besides," she nodded to his hand that gripped the dagger, "Even if we do wield such weapons as you say, then we must be careful else we could hurt ourselves just as easily as our enemies."

Moss squeezed the grip so tightly the puncture in his finger oozed out blood in streams that trickled down the blade. He didn't feel a thing as numb and hungover as he was. A mad laugh cackled up his throat. "I denied it its true purpose. I thought it needed reminding. Just a sip. So, I ask again. What do we do about the Mud District?"

"It's possible that Runt Braun is one on the other side of the schism. A weapon and a powerful one at that given Captain Ashur's trepidation. But even over on that other side there is a wide range of skill. Practically another divide within itself. If things fall through with the Mud District and we must cross blades, then I know just the one I'd like to wield. And he is on his way."


	15. Chapter 14

By midday the Rangers were gone from the city. Just as Buckets said they would be. Their hit on the truck routes actually worked. Clementine had little hope it would succeed. A direct attack on their supply line was risky. It was just as likely to provoke the Rangers to attack, especially with their bosses enraged over the lost Dust. That was the least of his worries. Trading blows was inevitable. But the raid of the trucks if anything revealed their knowledge of the Quarry, if Teal hadn't told them already. Clementine wouldn't put it past him. He was a man with no allegiances but his own. Teal betrayed his partners just in telling Runt and Clementine what he did. Though looking back at that night in Club Bloom, Clementine could see a sort of exchange taking shape in what they discussed. A trade of information shared between them. They revealed their knowledge of the Quarry and Teal revealed the names of his partners. _Our enemies._

Clementine hardly remembered the rest of the night that followed. Sneaking back into the Mud District. Diverting all of Runt's questions. His mind reverted to that of a dog endlessly chasing its tail. Round and round it went. Ira Glass. He knew her name and she knew his. No doubt about it. That visit to the World Theatre was no visit at all. She came to know her enemy. Just as he did when he met with Roland Teal. He'd been careless to think her asking for him was anything else. This conflict now infected every aspect of his life. There was no escape. Even the theatre had lost its sanctuary. Its blissful release from the troubles of the outside world were no more. He had only himself to blame. He brought the conflict there of his own accord. Pestering Spool with questions. Having him fix a meeting with one of the city's leaders. That sort of thing draws attention. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Clementine chastised himself the whole way to the World Theatre. His distressing thoughts hounded him, nipping at his heels. No City Guard replaced the Rangers' position at the border yet, so moving through the Craft District was an easy task. His mud caked feet won him curious looks from those he passed. Luckily, he made it to the World Theatre without incident. The back door was propped open with a cinderblock like always when there weren't any performances going on. He slipped inside.

The theatre was louder than he expected. A gaggle of people squawked about on stage. Adriane moved to each one pinning numbers on their chests and organizing them into the appropriate queue. Clementine skirted his way backstage, passing the armory of instrument cases. On stage opposite Adriane and her group there came a laugh. Pure and soft. His eyes traced that laugh to its origin and found Spool chatting with Ira Glass. They were both smiling. The sight froze him in place. Ira Glass spotted him first. Her smile could beckon any man forward. A warm invitation. She wore that mask well. It was seamlessly stitched to her face.

"Augustus!" she called out, "I hoped I would run into you again."

Clementine hesitated. He knew the game she played. She was not the only one could play it. With a smile as natural as the sun, Clementine approached the two of them. "Ms. Glass, what an unexpected pleasure."

"I'd say you're the unexpected here." Said Spool, surprised by his presence. "I can't remember the last time you showed up here two days in a row. We're just doing some castings for an upcoming play. Would you care to audition? There is a part I have in mind well suited for you."

"I'm afraid I can't. Too busy lately. Oh, but perhaps Ms. Glass would care to audition for a role?"

She smiled shyly, "I don't think I'm made for the stage. All those faces watching my every move…Its overwhelming."

"Nonsense." Said Clementine, "That isn't a problem with our audience. You'll likely overwhelm them with your talent and beauty."

"You flatter me."

"You sell yourself short." He replied.

"Spool," called out Adriane in a stern tone. She had been watching the conversation playout from afar, but no more. "We're ready."

Slightly embarrassed, Spool flicked a laughing tear from his eye and bowed. "Well, I must not keep everyone waiting. I have auditions to run. If you don't wish to audition you two could simply watch. Could always use another opinion. If I'm being honest my hearing isn't what it used to be plus Monnie and Merri drive me crazy when I'm alone with them. Two voices hovering over my shoulders both of them demons." He let out a rambunctious laugh and set off for the stairs leading to the auditorium.

Adriane stayed, staring at Ira Glass. The two women regarded one another, each unsure of the other. All at once Clementine felt as if he were a spectator to a conflict unseen. Then without saying a word Adriane returned to her duties, leaving Glass with a bemused half smile.

Clementine gestured in the direction of the stairs, "Care to join me, Ms. Glass?"

Without him offering she took Clementine by the arm, "Of course, lead the way."

Clementine guided her to the seats. He nodded to Monnie and Merri who flanked Spool at the judges table in the front row. Merri made kissy faces at him, but Monnie eyed Ms. Glass with open suspicion. The same look Adriane gave. Ira Glass either didn't notice or paid them no mind. She had done away with her long black dress from the previous night. In its place, she wore pinstriped slacks and a high collared bolero jacket over a white blouse. Surprisingly casual. Her little sack of Rotwheat remained in a loop around her neck.

They took seats a handful of rows behind Spool, somewhere around the middle of the raked auditorium. There were only a couple onlookers in the crowd. Just the usual passed out drunks or deadbeats with nowhere better to sleep during the day.

The play evidently was a musical because the candidate Adriane ushered on stage began singing to the grainy tune of Spool's record player. They watched the first few auditions together in silence. Neither made a sound expect for the applause after each bow. Clementine watched Ira Glass out of the corner of his eye. She kept her attention fixed on the auditions as if she were genuinely interested in the play. Not once did she glance in his direction. If her intent were to truly know her enemy, then she would be studying him. Or perhaps she was, just in the same peripheral vision way he observed her. The whole thing was maddening.

"Can we stop now?" asked Clementine, his voice a whisper so only she could hear.

"Stop what?" she replied in the same hushed tone.

"Stop pretending to be what we're not."

She arched an eyebrow, "And what would that be?"

"Friendly, when the truth is we are enemies."

For the first time since the auditions started she looked at him. Not a flicker of hesitation or a moment's shock passed over her features. "Can enemies not be friendly with one another?"

"That would go against the definition of enemies, wouldn't you think?"

"Enemies are two forces opposed to each other, nothing more. Hatred and hostility are often implied, but not married to the definition." She gestured to the stage, "Two performers may see themselves as rivals. Enemies. But there can be no hostility between them. Their existences simply collide with each other as natural as light and dark. In that collision, if they're free of hate and hostility they might grow to respect their enemy. Learn from them even."

Clementine bobbed his head, "I understand. But two rival performers rarely try to kill one another."

Glass pursed her lips, "I suppose you're right in that. We however, are of a different nature. What do you say Augustus? Can we be enemies and friendly at the same time?"

"What do you want?"

"To talk of course. This conflict between us is unnecessary. Who benefits?"

"You want to negotiate? Now? After everything?"

"It's not too late."

Clementine's laugh was harsh, "Oh please, go on. Let's _negotiate_."

With another bow the two of them applauded. When the clapping died down Ms. Glass spoke. "I was planning on revealing my true identity to you after building a relationship of trust. But you are clever. Figured it all out already. Or did Roland tell you? It doesn't matter. Now I find myself with very little to explain. You know it all, don't you? The fire. Where that man Sned got his guns…even the Quarry. While I don't agree with Councilman Moss' methods I understand his motivation to see you and your people gone from the Mud District. We've studied the threat the Quarry invites on Refuge for years now. A threat that is contained solely in the Mud District. The more we dig the more unstable the earth becomes. There is nothing we can do to prevent that."

"There is. Stop."

"That is out of the question. For at least the next few years."

"Of course it is." scoffed Clementine, "You make it sound as if you care about our wellbeing. But to you people we are just witnesses. Our lives mean nothing. You just wish us gone as to better protect your secret."

"Yet you've already discovered it." Said Glass, "Why haven't you told anyone?"

"Who is there to tell? If a mine of that magnitude has existed for this long without anyone knowing then I have no doubt that you have contingencies in place to prevent any word of it reaching the ears of the public. I suspect we wouldn't be the first to try." Her silence was all the confirmation he needed. "Why the secrecy in the first place?"

"If word got out about the Quarry, then Atlas would come. Dust is the most valuable resource on this planet and that deposit is the fountain of youth when it comes to Dust. Atlas would come and the Schnee Dust Company would wrestle it from our grasps one way or another. Wouldn't be surprised if they start a war over it. The Schnee's have built an empire using their monopoly on the Dust trade. The Quarry keeps our heads above the water. Not only that but we stand up to their corporation. With the Quarry Dust supplying them, Vulcan Industries has grown from a small family run workshop to the only business rival any threat to the Atlesians. The strides Marcus has made in the utility of Dust is what put Refuge on the map."

"So, that's why the Dust goes to the black market. You can't sell to any legitimate place without risking Atlas finding out."

Ms. Glass nodded, "The money I get from exploiting Mistral's black market I use to sustain this city. Refuge was a camp at the start of things and that's being modest. After the war, it became a den of criminals, my family included. My father ran the business here and his father before him. Then the burden fell to me…A woman. How that grated him. Yet, it was I who succeeded where all my family failed before me. I raised Refuge to become one of the mightiest cities in all of Remnant. So powerful in fact that others fear us. Even our own government. The council of Mistral worry we might outshine them so they do their best to thwart us at every turn."

Her frown deepened, "I take no enjoyment from slavery. But it's been in place long before me and for good reason. I want to end it. But I can't. Everything that makes Refuge what it is, its wealth, its ingenuity, its prosperity, it all hinders on the Quarry remaining a secret. Without it, everything comes down. I won't let that happen."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Clementine, "You expose your fatal flaw. Aren't you afraid I'll exploit it?"

"I want all cards out on the table, Augustus. To better come to an understanding so that you may agree with my offer and my offer is this: Leave. There is more to the world than the Mud District. We will help you pack and move, whatever you need. There is no room for all of you in the city, but there are many neighboring villages out in the glades and beyond the valley. You could even start your own. We'd help you build it. End this conflict between us. Settle somewhere better not just for yourself, but for your people. All I ask is that you keep quiet about the Quarry. Most I wouldn't trust with that knowledge. But if you gave me your word then I'll believe it. It's more than a fair offer. I beg of you, accept it."

Clementine remained silent for some time. Long enough for two more auditions to come and go. Their songs sounded distant to Clementine's ears. A world away. "I hold no special love for the Mud District." He said at last, his tone hollow. "It's just streets of wood stacked on mud. In truth, I've always dreamed of leaving the city. To wander Remnant free of the burdens of this place."

"A modest dream." Said Ira Glass.

"Your offer is generous. There is just one problem…I can't take it."

Ira flinched as if slapped, "You would gamble with your people's lives?"

"My sister, Risa, died in the Mud District. Alone…Reduced to nothing but melted flesh over burnt bones." There came a pulse from his gut. The jolt brought him to his feet. The last audition had just finished, but neither of them were applauding. "You people burned my sister alive. Now you ask me to walk away? No…this isn't over. And I won't stop even if I have to bury this city in its own blood."

His words struck her like hammer blows. He saw it in her face. All hope was stripped away, leaving her pale and blank. She stood so that they were eye to eye once more. "I'm sorry you feel that way." After a quick glance around the theatre she took her leave.

Clementine watched her go and stood there still as a statue until Spool arrived to check on him.

"What was that about?" asked the old man, his smile quickly fading. "What happened?" Monnie and Merri hovered close by. Both worried but none came too close.

Clementine smiled to relieve their tension, but his words were low so only Spool could hear. "There's something you should know about our friend, Ira Glass."


	16. Chapter 15

The train ride was so peaceful he fell asleep halfway through. By the time the joggling motion of the tracks rocked him to sleep he was looking out his window to the ocean, watching as the waves crashed against the jagged cliffside. Oren admired the power of both natural forces. The unwavering strength of the cliffs to stand and endure. As well as the relentless attempts of the waves to bring it all down. Two great powers locked in an eternal battle. Neither side giving up. There was poetry there. Oren could tell that much at least, though he could never put it into words.

When next he opened his eyes, the train had left the ocean long behind. Down the aisle came a stampede of shuffling feet. The varied passengers of the express train flooded out into the station, spreading like a swarm.

"Excuse me," said the train Conductor standing beside him, "we have arrived at our destination."

"I can see that, thank you."

Ten seconds of still silence passed before the Conductor straightened. "You must exit the train along with the rest of the passengers."

"I'll go when they've gone."

"And why would that be?"

"I'm claustrophobic." Answered Oren.

"You're a what?"

"It means I don't like crowds. They make me anxious. The whole idea of being outnumbered is unsettling to me. When I find myself in such a situation I grow desperate to alleviate the pressure by any means. Now looking at this present case I see two ways we can go about it. One, I stay here until the buzzing swarm disperses itself into the city. Then I'll be on my merry way. That's a certainty. Or you can assert yourself, as you have every right to do and throw me out of the train. Send me stumbling into the thick of said swarm. Now you are free to do so, but I can make no guarantees on what will happen next. Do you understand me?"

Oren turned to face the conductor who took a visible step back. Fear dripped down the man's furrowed brow. Oren knew why. His stare was an unnerving thing. Or so he's been told. His eyes were depthless pools that rarely blinked. He had high set bulging cheekbones that made his cheeks appear sunken. His otherwise plain, clean-shaven face looked starved. The lack of eyebrows on him made it difficult to read Oren's expression or if he even had one at all. After a few grueling seconds under his stare the Conductor meekly nodded his understanding.

"Good." Oren reached out and tapped on the symbol stitched to the man's bronze uniform. "What's that?"

"It's a V." Stammered the Conductor, "A symbol."

Oren took a long-controlled breath, "Yes, I came to a similar deduction. But what does it mean?"

"You don't know?"

"Should I?"

"It's the logo of Vulcan Industries. They built this station. Even the train itself and all the tracks. You ever see a car on the road or an aircraft in the sky, that's Vulcan Industries. All Dust powered. A simple shard can keep this hunk of metal going through the night."

Oren's hairless brows rose in astonishment, "Is that so?"

"Yes, sir. People say Vulcan has revolutionized transport here in Mistral just as the Cross-Continental Transit System has done for communication."

"Vulcan, Vulcan, Vul-Ah, yes. Marcus. I'm more of a fan of his other works."

"Other works?" The Conductor's inquiry was met with a knowing smile from Oren but nothing more. Despite the cool air being distributed throughout the train carts the graying man wiped sweat from his face, "If you don't mind me saying, if you're not so fond of crowds then I think Refuge would be the last place for you to be."

"Couldn't agree with you more. Unfortunately, I've been summoned." The Conductor squinted at Oren with a question on his lips. Oren recognized the look. He'd seen it many times before. "Whatever you want to ask, just ask it already."

"Less of a question more of a…You look familiar. Have you ridden this train before?"

"Never."

The Conductor shrugged in dismissal, "Perhaps it's just one of those faces then."

"Unlikely." Said Oren, "How many people do you see walking around with no eyebrows?"

The brittle laugh fumbled out of the Conductor's lips. "Can't say very many."

"Don't worry it happens to me all the time. Tell me, did you by any chance catch the thirtieth Vytal festival?"

"Hmmm…Yes, was that the one when-" his face froze with the sudden realization.

Oren clucked his tongue, "I'd say you recognize me now."

The Conductor backed away, almost bumping into the seats across the aisle. He pointed one trembling finger out the cart window. "The crowd has dispersed. You should leave now. Or you can stay seated if you wish to take the next ride out of Refuge."

Oren stood and stepped into the walkway so that he and the Conductor were face to face. "That's alright. I don't like to linger where I don't feel welcomed." He reached up into the overhead baggage space and retrieved his kit. A plain square block and six thin swords wrapped in a thick sheet. Oren slung the block across his back and sheathed the six blades into it. Two shoved through each side and two through the top. "A pleasure talking with you."

It took all the old Conductor had to smile back. Sparing the inside of the cozy air-conditioned train one last glance, Oren stepped out into Refuge station. The old Conductor was right. Vulcan had changed things. In Mistral, at least. Oren had been noticing it more and more. Few rode horses these days. Even combat was being revolutionized by the growing popularity of dual purpose weaponry. Oren had no love for the movement. He found mechanical weapons gaudy and insubstantial. Yet he couldn't deny the fact that technology seemed to be the inevitable path all manner of life was heading towards. A sour thought to mull over on his way out the station.

Before he even passed through the station gates, Oren could taste the city. Nestled as it was in the bosom of the Spine's horseshoe valley, Refuge saw little wind. The still air caused smells to linger. Oren had a sharp nose efficient at detecting unique scents. Perfumes were sweet like roses, blood reeked of iron, and shit smelled like…well, shit. But Refuge was an amalgamation. All of it: blood, sweat, metal, perfume, booze, piss, it all culminated together to create the odor that was the city. Too many things mixed together in too close a space. Oren wasn't sure what was worse, the smell itself or the fact that locals here could even get used to it. Swallowing down his disgust, Oren continued on.

The railway station led straight into the Administration District, Refuge's smallest district. Here the people raced about as if they were consistently in a hurry. Most of them being finely dressed government employees. They circled around the Citadel, where the local councilor lived and all big decisions were made. Oren considered heading there first, but after seeing the rush of people moving in and out of the tower's base he decided against it.

Instead, he secreted himself in with a caravan of traders on their way to the famous Bazaar to sell their goods. Oren stayed with the group, thankful for the large wagons for some protection from the growing masses walking the streets. However, when they neared the Trade District with all its chaotic glory Oren peeled off. He wandered around for a little, somehow ending up in the Flower District. At least it wasn't so busy during the day.

Sweaty and hot from the summer's heat Oren decided to get a drink. Seeing as there was a pub practically every twenty feet he chose one at random and made his way to the door. A bulky man in a tight black shirt and sunglasses stood guard.

"Hold it right there." Said the Bouncer, stopping Oren with a hand on his shoulder. "Clubs not open to the public for another couple hours. And not even a member could get past me, not with that arsenal on your back. What's a guy need six swords for when he only has two hands?"

Oren examined the hand gripping his shoulder. The finger nails were chewed down to the nub like a child's. "Can you really not control yourself?" he asked.

"What's that?"

"You'd think here of all places people would take better care of themselves." He locked eyes with the bouncer, "Have you nothing better to do all day? I bet your mind just wanders. Slowly, inch by inch those fingers move up to your teeth. Then it's like you're eating corn. What do you do with the shavings? Do you just leave them to collect here outside a prestigious club? No, that'd get you in trouble. You swallow them. Don't deny it, I can see it written all over your face. You eat your own nails. Now, I always knew this city was a host of travesties but never did I expect self-cannibalism. Even on this small of a scale. It's disgusting."

The Bouncer threw his other hand back but before he could even make a fist Oren took hold of the hand gripping him and with one savage twist wrenched it lose. Bones snapped and the Bouncer crumpled in pain. On the way down his face met Oren's knee. Teeth cracked and the man's head whiplashed. Oren stepped aside then, careful to avoid the Bouncer's clutching hands as he fell. There were a few startled gasps from the passing folk on the street but their moment of shock was short-lived. No more than eight heartbeats later they were walking past, business as usual. Only a few cast their curious glances his way. Oren picked up the Bouncer's gray tinted shades and after a quick inspection he put them on and entered the club.

The coat check lady smiled at him behind the counter of her little booth. That smile melted upon noticing the box impaled with six swords slung over the man's back. She called out to him. "Sir? Sir? You're not allowed in here with that. Sir!" He moved past, paying her no mind. Down the hall, a set of double doors awaited him. With both hands, he shoved them open. The first thing he noticed was the music. Soft and smooth. The source, a lone pianist on stage. There were just a handful of members scattered about the club. Heads turned and tracked him as Oren made his way to the bar. The bartender working there still had acne.

"Are you old enough to even drink yourself?" asked Oren.

The kid glanced around as if looking for help, but ultimately found none in the pinched expressions of the club members. "Ya-you don't belong here." He stuttered.

"Put that together all by yourself?" teased Oren as he reached the mahogany lacquered bar. Its wooden surface was polished to a mirror sheen.

The only other patron at the bar was an old man puffing smoke from a fat cigar. He wore a rich suit easily distinguishing him as some high society big shot from the Administration District like many of the other members. The smoke from the man's cigar wafted its way into Oren's face.

"Put that out." Commanded Oren.

The old man turned, noticing the newcomer for the first time. "Come again?" His voice was raspy from what Oren could only guess was years of smoking.

"I said, put that out. We're indoors and I have no intention of breathing that poison in."

The old man's cheeks grew red, "Who the fuck do you think you are, sport? You want me to put it out, I'll put it out in your bloody eye."

Oren's hand instinctively moved towards one of his swords but he stopped himself and sighed. "Now, you're old. Maybe you couldn't hear me properly so I'll repeat myself. You can either put it out right now and wait for the next month or two before those things kill you or you can continue smoking it and save yourself some time. What's it going to be boss?"

The man's wrinkled face quivered with rage. However, upon spotting the long straight blades on Oren's back he paled as white as a ghost. Biting his lip, the old man dropped his cigar in his drink and excused himself from the bar in a not so disguised rush to get away.

"What are you doing here mister?" asked the young man sweating behind the counter.

"The truth is actually quite embarrassing. Though," Oren leaned over the bar and whispered, "Can you keep a secret?" A nervous gulp followed by a nod and Oren continued. "You see, Sweats-Oh, you don't mind if I call you Sweats now do you? Thing is, Sweats…I'm lost. Supposed to be meeting with my cousin, but what's a man going to do, lost in a big city like this. Am I right? Now if I just sit and wait. I'm sure she'll find me."

By the time he finished talking another bartender had arrived. An older man with white gloves. He shared a few private words with Sweats before the kid scrammed like a whipped dog, leaving them in each other's company. "I was just beginning to like him too." Said Oren.

The new bartender smiled, "Get you a drink?"

"No, I don't touch it."

"Odd place to be then."

"Perhaps, but something tells me it will grab the most attention. She'll come scoop me up soon and I'll be out of your hair. Well… what's left of it."

The Bartender delicately touched at his combed blonde hair before smiling again. "Water then?"

"If you please. Oh and some little ice cubes if you don't mind. It's a hot one today and I don't want to end up like our pal, Sweats."

"Sure thing."

As the bartender went to the tap Oren turned to inspect the club. It appeared the bartender wasn't the only new arrival. Standing near the double doors was a small band of siblings. At least he assumed they were a band judging by the matching suits and the music cases they carried with them. The fact that they were siblings was obvious in their similar features. As Oren looked at them they threateningly unlocked their cases as if they were cocking a gun. With an amused smirk Oren turned his attention to the lone musician on stage. The man hummed to the melody of his piano, his fingers dancing across the keys.

"He's good."

The bartender slid him a clear glass of water with three perfect cubes of ice. "We all have our talents, Mr. Glass."

Oren Glass inspected the bartender with renewed interest. Each detail was a piece to the puzzle that was this bartender. The snazzy suit. Elaborate bowtie. Stylish suspenders. Those greenish blue eyes. The giveaway was the white gloves the man wore tucked into his shirt sleeves. Oren wagged a finger at the man, "You're one of hers. The Patron she called you. What was your name again?"

"Roland Teal."

Oren slapped the bar, "That's the one. I must say, that was quicker than expected. Did she have you on look out?"

"Actually," said Teal, "I had no idea you were here until five minutes ago."

"She didn't tell you? Wouldn't worry too much over it. Ira's never been the trusting type. I take the blame for that. I used to torture her when we were kids. Back then she had this nasty habit of chewing gum all the time. She'd just pop one piece in after another until it was one big wad of chewy goop. So, one day I took an old piece out from under her desk and chucked it in her hair. After, I convinced her that grease was the best way to remove it. The look on her face…especially when she found out I was the one who threw the gum to begin with. Man, she was furious."

"Can't imagine her taking that lightly. What did she do?"

Oren Glass slicked his fingers over where his eyebrows should've been. "Clipped them. In the dead of night."

"That's all?"

"Let's just say she threatened to clip more important things as well."

"Sounds like her."

As if on cue, the double doors swung open and in stepped Ira Glass. Her two body guards Alvaro and Ward were close behind.

"Beloved Cousin!" shouted Oren, raising his water in greeting. "As beautiful as ever."

Ira narrowed her gaze on him, fixing her cousin in place like a pinned fly. "Oren. You shouldn't wander." She joined her cousin at the bar, refusing to take a seat. "Roland, you remember my cousin."

A jaded smile, "How can I forget?"

"I apologize for my cousin's behavior."

He waved a dismissive hand, "No need."

Ira loomed over her cousin. "Oren…do you have something to say to Mr. Teal here?"

Oren pushed down his new sunglasses so that Teal may better see his eyes. "I apologize. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your man outside. He…well, he bites his nails. Frequently. Eats them too. Maybe guards all do that when they're bored. No wonder they keep their hands in clenched fists and behind their backs."

Ira rolled her eyes but before she could speak Oren drummed his fingers on the bar. "Why have you called me here?"

Roland Teal shot a glare at Ira, but she disregarded him as if he left the room. She kept her gaze fixed on Oren. "Because dear cousin, I have a job that requires your particular skill set."

Oren's smile made his emancipated face skeletal, "I'd hoped so."


	17. Chapter 16

Runt found him staring into the dark pit of the tunnel mouth. He watched him for some time. The dwindling light of the setting sun struggled to reach them this close to the Spine. What little of it did was swallowed whole by the tunnel's maw. Clementine made no movement besides the occasional readjustment of his balance in the mud. Whatever was on his mind gnawed at him. The prospect of whatever it was frightened Runt, but he came forward anyways.

"Naz told me you came in from the city, but he never saw you leave." Clementine gave no sign he noticed him at all so Runt stepped closer. "Where did you go?"

"The World Theatre…To see Spool."

"You using the tunnel again?"

"No," Clementine ran a hand over his purple vest, "Promised Spool I would keep it clean. I just like to come here to think."

Runt nodded his understanding, "Thinking about what you're going to say tonight?"

Clementine shook his head, obviously distracted. "Can't. I saw her, Runt."

"Saw who?"

"Ira Glass. The Tradeboss."

"When?" asked Runt, suddenly desperate. "Where?"

"She came to the World Theatre the day of the concert. Before we even met with Teal."

Runt stifled his surprise with some effort. "What did she want?"

"Nothing. We just talked. About my music mostly. That was before I knew…After our meet with Teal I had to go back. To warn Spool about her. She was already there by the time I arrived. She knew where I'd be and where I was going. All I can think about now is how little I know about her."

"Did you confront her?" Clementine winced at that so Runt pressed him, "What did she say?"

Clementine kept staring at the tunnel entrance as if fascinated with that consuming darkness. When at last he found his voice, it was hoarse. "She threatened to finish what Moss started if we don't stop. She promised to set the Mud District ablaze and watch us all burn."

Runt's stomach turned upside down. Ever since Teal told them about Ira Glass he held out a small hope that peace could be negotiated. If Moss' actions were without the consent of the Tradeboss then perhaps she would be willing to make things right rather than risk a fight. The hope of a compromise teetered within him. With just two sentences Clementine managed to burn that hope to the ground. From its ashes, his anger resurfaced. Runt's fist went straight through the building wall to his left. Pulling it out caused the whole thing to buckle and collapse.

When the dust cleared, Clementine was looking his way. "There is no hope for any sort of deal with these people. We have to fight."

Not trusting himself to speak, Runt simply nodded.

* * *

During normal day hours, the Craft District was starved of any color. At night was when the district became alive. Not in the neon glow, packed street ways of the Flower District. No, the dark revealed the flickering tongues of flames that hissed on every corner. None more so than the main Vulcan Industries workshop. The building's high roof was over five stories tall and more than twice the size of any of the warehouses found in the Buffer. A monstrosity of brick and steel that formed the mechanical beating heart of the Craft District.

Clementine and Runt marched towards the workshop, black soot gravel crunching beneath their feet. Now that the Rangers were gone the guard were reposted at the border. They were a breeze to slip past thanks to Runt's noise deadening semblance and the dark's kind shroud. With no security guarding the front door, Clementine and Runt simply walked right in. It was like stepping into another world.

Over a hundred men and women laboring under one roof. Clementine could only spare a few quick glances to soak it all in. Didn't fit the character to ogle all that he saw when he was trying to look like he belonged. Life-sized models of aircraft hanged from the ceiling by bits of wire and rope, which amazed Clementine as much as it frightened him. Blueprints and papers beyond his comprehension were sprawled out over countless tables. At one work station engineers were busy assembling what looked like a humanoid machine constructed out of clockwork. Another group stood pondering over the disassembled parts of an engine. It was the most organized dissection Clementine had ever seen. In the corner, a group of sweaty workers were testing two different types of powdered Dust. One red and the other blue. The mixed powders once ignited filled the glass test canister with steam.

Amidst the controlled chaos of the workshop Clementine and Runt went unnoticed. At least until one grease smeared woman in a tank top stepped in front of them both. Her biceps were bigger than Clementine's head. The worker eyed them both with open suspicion.

"Who are you two?" she asked in a surprisingly sweet voice.

"My name is Augustus Clementine. My large friend here is Runt Braun."

She bounced a crowbar on her muscled shoulder. "No tours today. What is it you want?"

"If we could we'd like to talk to your boss." Said Runt.

"Marcus is busy in his office. Try again another time."

"It's an urgent matter." Insisted Clementine.

The woman looked between them both. Her eyes dragged down to their feet and stayed there for a while. Clementine knew what she was looking at. They intentionally left the mud as it were. The soot darkened it some but where they came from was indisputable. They might as well have been wearing signs around their necks. The bouncing of the crowbar slowed. The woman chewed her lip as she contemplated.

"Follow me."

She led them through the workshop, turning a few heads along the way. Just a few curious glances before returning to their work. They passed by the group working on the clockwork humanoid. The workers formed a circle around the machine, one of them holding an elaborate remote control. After a few button presses the robot twitched into movement. It made a few easy strides to a worktable where a cup of water was propped. The machine slowly reached out and gripped the plastic with stiff fingers. The group of engineers watching on holding their breath as the robot lifted the cup effortlessly.

A hiccup of a spasm coursed through the robot's mechanical body. Then the machine promptly fell forward, smacking its head on the table before hitting the ground. The water spilled and the cup rolled across the floor followed by frustrated gasps from those watching. Despite its obvious failure the robot tried to continue its orders. However, its head was bent funny and it was trying to walk while lying flat on its stomach. It convulsed on the ground as if it were having a seizure.

"You have to admire its dedication." joked Clementine.

Their guide grunted a small laugh, "Of all our innovations…we still flop when it comes to anything anatomical. The Atlesians are years ahead of us in that area."

"I see plenty of potential here besides that."

"You see prototypes. This is our experimental workshop not a production factory. Most of what we make here rarely gets approved past beta. Come on, he's just over here."

In the back of the workshop was a walled off section. Marcus Vulcan's private office. His name was printed in bold font on the door's opaque glass window. The worker knocked and waited a few seconds for the answering, "Come in."

They followed her inside, Runt needing to duck to fit through the door.

"Marcus," said the crowbar wielding woman, "you have visitors."

Marcus Vulcan sat leaning over his desk. A large man built like a true blacksmith. Years spent standing over some kind of forge left his skin blemished with shiny patches. All his hair had migrated from the top of his head down to his long scraggly beard. In his hands, he inspected a shard of raw Dust through a jeweler's monocle. Clementine wasn't sure what to imagine when meeting thee Marcus Vulcan. The last thing he expected was a child peaking over his shoulder. The little girl seemed to be inspecting the Dust shard with a monocle of her own which was oversized for her small fist. She had charcoal hair and yellow eyes that blazed like the fiery heart of a furnace. Marcus set down the shard and peered up at his guests.

"Who is it now?" His voice was rough as if he'd been swallowing smoke all his life.

"A couple of brown foots." Answered the woman.

Marcus pushed himself up so that he could glimpse his guests' feet. The man's face sagged upon recognizing the mud caked legs of his guests. He shot the woman a glare before easing back down behind his desk. His eyes, like smoldering coals, studied Clementine and Runt for an intense period of prolonged silence before turning to the little girl still on his shoulder. Those eyes instantly softened.

"Raina, sweaty, run along now. Maybe Hilda here will let you play with her crowbar."

The little girl slid down and skipped towards the door, stopping in front of Runt. She stared up with wide eyes as if despite all her father's wondrous works, he was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. Her complete and undivided attention made Runt slide a foot backwards.

"Careful," warned Clementine, "or you might scare him off."

Flashing a grin, Raina raised her hands like claws and reared. "Boo!" she shouted. When Runt stumbled back, Raina snickered and scampered out the door. The woman named Hilda bowed her head to Marcus and chased after Raina, closing the office door behind her.

Marcus Vulcan leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. "Right, have a seat then. Go on."

Clementine and Runt took both of the guest chairs in front of Vulcan's desk. Fine leather seats. It was a cozy little office space fixed with a bookshelf and couch. A handful of miniature models decorated the desk. Clementine recognized a few he'd seen driving in the street or flying high in the sky. Lining the top of his bookshelves were glass bottles each with its own sizzling shard of Dust. Red, yellow, orange, and blue. The ignited pieces of Dust gave off their own dim glow. How they were burning and not exploding, Clementine had no idea.

"Brown foots?" asked Runt.

"It's what we here in the Craft District call our neighbors from the Mud."

"Ah."

"Cute kid." Complimented Clementine.

Marcus fixed Clementine with a menacing stare as if his compliment was anything but. Behind clenched teeth Marcus said, "Thank you."

"Thank you for meeting with us." Spoke up Runt.

"Yes, well when you're marched into my office I can't very well refuse you now can I?" He leaned forward lacing his fingers on top of his desk. "Don't leave me in suspense. Why is it that you're here?"

"We're just here to talk." Affirmed Runt.

"Go on then, talk."

Runt looked to Clementine who gave him a reaffirming nod. "Mr. Vulcan I've lived in Refuge for a good chunk of my life. Before that I traveled across Mistral with my family. Everywhere I went in this kingdom I've heard mention of your name. It's my understanding that you are a fair, honest man. A good man. Revered by his workers and citizens alike."

The flattery didn't register on Marcus' stony face. "Your point?"

"The point," interrupted Clementine, "in which my uncommonly large friend is dancing around is how could a man so praised as yourself be unaware that their supply of Dust is procured through slave labor?" his words struck home as he hoped they would, "Surely that is the case? That you are unaware that your supplier, Ira Glass, runs a slave quarry some miles past the Spine. Because a fair, honest, good man as I know the definition, wouldn't abide such a thing."

Marcus Vulcan's jaw moved and bunched in a slow grinding motion. "Seems you've already made up your minds about it. Why bother asking at all?"

"We were hoping to appeal to your better nature, but if you ask me, I'm not holding out much hope."

"Clementine, that's enough." Runt took a deep breath, "You said it yourself, we're neighbors. The Craft and the Mud. We were friendly once. Before they wedged the Buffer between us. What we came here to say is this. We know about the Quarry. We intend to do something about it. Your help would be invaluable, but know that we will continue with or without it. Still, I ask you. Please. Don't do it for us. Don't do it for the thousands slaving away as we speak. Do it for your daughter. It's our job, isn't it? To leave the world in better shape than we found it."

Marcus slammed his fist down on the desk, knocking over a few prototype models. "Everything I do, I do to keep Raina safe! You want me to admit that the Quarry is wrong? It is. I agree with every word you've said, truly I do. But none of that matters if my daughter doesn't live to inherit that better world."

"We can keep her safe."

"Safe?" Vulcan's mirthless laugh might as well have slapped Runt in the face. "There is no safe from her. Say I stand with you. It won't avoid a fight. But you're a big man. Who knows? Maybe we even win that fight. Won't make a scrap of difference. If Ira Glass loses, she will make sure we do as well. Victory will taste sour. I guarantee it."

"How can you be so certain?" asked Clementine.

"I've seen it firsthand. You think she took over a city plus half of Mistral's black-market trade without plucking the wings off her competition first? This city used to be rife with criminals. Violent gangs and corrupt aristocrats all vying for power. A back-alley war without an end in sight. Until the day one of them crippled Ira's father. That was the first day of the end of an era. Ira Glass stepped up to fill the hole left vacant in her father's seat. A teenage girl, round your own age. By the year's end she ruled supreme. The rest either joined her empire or fell beneath the rubble of their own. That is the woman you are dealing with. And I won't give her any excuse. Not one."

Clementine sneered, "You're a coward."

"Aye. I'm a coward. But I'm a father before anything else. If you live long enough, maybe you'll understand that one day. But now, I must ask you both to leave."

Clementine rose from the leather chair. He hadn't expected anything out of Marcus. Nor anyone in this city. He thought them one and all corrupt. They festered either with willing incompetence or careless indifference. This realization was less than a discovery and more like a final acceptance. As if he's always known. Since his last chat with Ira Glass his aggravation with the world deepened. The depths of his outrage were unknown even to him. In this meeting with Marcus Vulcan, Clementine shocked himself with his own ire. Still, even if he pleaded with tears on his cheeks the answer would be the same. Clementine knew better than to hope. Runt however, despite all he has seen was incapable of letting it go.

"I don't envy your position." Sympathized Runt, "But let me ask you. What happens when your daughter finds out? Because you know she will. A week from now, a year, ten years. It's inevitable. That's what none of you seem to understand. A secret like that won't last. When the word gets out that you not only accepted slave mined Dust but knowingly exploited it…How would Raina feel? Especially knowing you did it all for her sake."

Marcus Vulcan paled, "She will understand."

"Do you really believe that?"

Something broke behind Vulcan's hard exterior. Something fragile. The man slumped back in his chair, eyes fixed on nothing. "Even if she doesn't, then I will accept that. She will hate me until the end of my days, but at least she will be alive to do so."

Runt was slow to accept Vulcan's words. When he did, he too rose and followed Clementine out of the workshop. His movements were stiff like the clockwork robot struggling to walk across the workshop floor. As they reached the exit it fell flat on its face once again. Still it continued to walk, breaking its limbs against the ground.


	18. Chapter 17

The bright sun overhead promised another hot summer day. Naz missed the Mud District. The cobbled ground of the Buffer had a way of absorbing the sun's heat. It didn't bother him much, but by the end of every patrol shift the others would complain. They've been doing that more often of late. It was the boredom he knew. Boredom chipped away at everyone until there wasn't much else to do besides complain about things. Naz didn't doubt their loyalty. Such a thing wasn't possible. They were fierce in their commitment. It was only the method of retribution that he doubted.

Mudslingers. People used to whisper that name behind their backs. Now they've grown to accept the title. Its who they were. These men and women he called family weren't going to change. Not ever. They are thieves and thugs. Brutes and lowlifes. Like Naz they have willingly stepped onto this path of redemption, but there is no denying their nature. Only now, in a position of leadership, did Naz begin to understand. This family of his could not be controlled for long. Runt understood this. He kept them in check, but knew enough to let them indulge in their vices. On that short leash, they were tamed. Under his leadership, they were the best they could be. But then the collar came off and Sned let them run wild. That 'gift' of freedom blinded them to Sned's greed. But now they had a second chance and Naz was determined to make sure it didn't go to waste.

Not an easy task. Naz knew himself to be a shit leader. If anything, he was just a mouthpiece. An instrument for those who knew what they were doing and Naz was glad for it. Runt, Kiera, Buckets and even Clementine, they spoke through him and the others listened because with Sned gone he was the biggest and meanest of them all. Still, no amount of patrol duty could turn them into the royal guards the Mud District needed them to be. That attack on the trucks was enough to satiate them for a while. But it's only a matter of time before they start taking things into their own hands. Already Naz had to put an end to a few self-planned raids on the city. Foolish plans that would cause more harm than good.

Naz leaned against the barracks picking his nails clean. To his left a few Mudslingers on break were tossing dice. A betting game created that night Buckets humiliated Sned.

The sound of naked feet slapping against stone alerted Naz to Clementine's approach. The younger boy looked sickly as if he hadn't seen a bed in days. "Naz, how are things here?"

Naz waited until Clementine was close so he could speak softly, without the others hearing. "All quiet here. As usual."

"You sound bored." Observed Clementine.

"It's been more than a week since we took the Buffer. We're backed up, alright? All this watching and doing nothing. How long do we have to wait before this standoff ends?"

"Not much longer now. I've already set things in motion."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm sending Buckets and Kiera on a mission beyond the Spine. They're going to do what they need to do to cut off their supply lines for good."

"How come you didn't tell me about this?"

Clementine smirked, "I'm telling you now. Buckets and Kiera only found out this morning. They're making the climb as we speak."

"And what are we to do besides sit on our asses?"

"We can't just go on the offensive." Clementine stared off in the direction of the Craft District. "Refuge is too big. We punch through there and we will be scattered and surrounded. So, we will make them come to us. Kiera and Buckets will see to that."

"So, you're saying wait."

"And be ready, yes."

"Waiting…We gonna wait till they die of old age, is that it? Don't think you're the only one. I want those bastards who were pullin' Sned's strings just as much as you."

Clementine was slow and soft in response. "I know. I just wish I knew sooner."

Naz hated his pitiful tone. "You lost your sister. I lost my mother. There's not a single person in this district who didn't lose a friend or relative that night. We all had our own losses to grieve. There was no more room for anything else."

"I still should've realized."

"Wouldn't have changed anything."

"But you were right." Said Clementine, "Back when we were kids. I did have a secret way into the city. But I never told you. If only I knew why you were so desperate for more…"

The regretful tone of his voice made Naz uncomfortable. "I didn't make it easy. She didn't make it easy. Even in sickness she found a way to bitch about everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough. Then there was you. Smartest little shit at Greenberg's. Always so clever. Resourceful. I'd scrounge up a potato while you manage wheels of cheese. Felt as if you were rubbing it in my face."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter now." Naz grunted a laugh, "Look at you. You're still a little shit."

Clementine shared his smile, "And you're still the angriest guy I know."

It hurt Naz's nose to smile but he did it anyway. He could see how Runt grew to respect someone like Clementine. For all his apparent weaknesses he was in his own way, strong. Strong enough to stand up to him, to Sned, and every fucker out there that supported the wannabe King of Mud. In a way Clementine was like Buckets, only simpler. Clementine's resolve came from something Naz recognized. Hate. Anger. Those emotions shaped him as they did Naz. Buckets on the other hand was more of mystery. He seemed to love life itself and it filled him with a joy so simple Naz couldn't comprehend it.

A sudden shout echoed over the Buffer warehouses before being silenced as quickly as it started. Naz was on his feet before anyone else, club in hand. _What was that?_ The rattle of dice came to a halt as each of the Mudslingers followed Naz's lead.

"Where'd that come from?" grumbled Jules as he loaded his assault rifle.

Naz stepped out from the barrack's shade, "I don't know, but it sounded close."

Clementine pointed to the youngest Mudslinger present. A boy of twelve. "You, go find Runt. He should be at Old Gran's. Hurry!"

The boy was already sprinting before Clementine even finished his order. The others moved to join Naz in the middle of the street. Another cry cut short, this time closer.

Naz hefted his club, "The patrol. We're under attack."

"By who?" asked Leff, "Our lookouts would've seen a City Guard advance."

Down the lane, from an alley mouth appeared a stranger. The man had large round eyes behind gray tinted shades. Six swords were stored on his back. The handles of which poked over his shoulder blades and out to his sides. If he was City Guard then he was out of uniform. However, Naz's gut told him this stranger was much more than that. Those creepy browless eyes fell on Clementine and the stranger rushed forward. Four assault rifles blared to life, but that stranger was a blur. He reached Jules and with a single swing of the sword, sliced the rifle in half. The resulting explosion sent the Mudslinger reeling back. Naz hadn't even seen him unsheathe the thin blade. One second his hand was empty, the next it was there. That sword sliced through four of his friends before Naz could reach him.

"You bastard!" he shouted as his club met the stranger's steel. The sharp blade bit into the wood. Naz followed through with his heavy swing, pushing the stranger back several strides. He charged, ignoring the cries of pain from his friends and the incoherent warning shout behind him. Naz wouldn't give this man half a second to recover. He pressed him, swing after swing leading into the next.

Raw strength was Naz's only advantage so he exploited it. As stubborn and single-minded as an ox. He drove the stranger back down the cobbled street. The swings the stranger couldn't dodge he parried with his thin blade. With each contact Naz's club battered the sword aside. The stranger buckled beneath his blows, falling to one knee. Naz raised his club over his head and brought it straight down with all his might. The club connected with the skinny sword-

And jarred to a halt. The sudden stop sent a shiver up his arms. A cold presence ran through his body as sharp and precise a hornet's sting. Naz looked down just in time to see the stranger pull the slick steel out from his chest. The man's browless expression…bored.

All at once his bullish strength left him. The club grew too heavy in his hand so it slipped through his fingers. Naz stumbled back, confused. The world tilted before his eyes until he was looking straight up towards the sun. A shadow passed over him, or maybe he just blinked. He wasn't sure. A cold set into his bones. The pooling blood beneath him cooled the hot cobbled stones. An unexpected relief from the summer's heat. Then again, maybe it was winter after all, for it started snowing. His vision dissolved to white like wool being pulled over his eyes.

 _Mama, why did you have to die?_ _It's not fair. I took care of you like I always did. No matter the burden on me. No matter if you never thanked me or not. I got you out of those flames you ungrateful hag. But you were sick and smoke was everywhere. All you had to do was breathe. It's not fair! None of it is…So quit your yelpin' Mama, I'm coming home._

* * *

Just as soon as the flat faced brute with the broken nose fell, the kid arrived, jumping over his friend's body. Windswept strawberry blonde hair, violet vest embroidered black at its edges, and royal purple eyes. The kid fit the description Ira gave him. Oren leapt into the air, landing back a good space. The Clementine kid stopped his advance and turned to check on his flat faced friend. Oren knew though, the brute was probably already dead. He pierced his heart through and through. Oren wiped his handkerchief down the length of the blade, soaking up the dead brute's blood. He stroked the tip of the needle sword with his bare fingers. The damned wooden club nicked the steel.

After checking his pulse, Clementine removed his hand from the brute's neck. "You killed him."

"Why does everyone feel the need to tell me what I can plainly see for myself? Yeah, I killed him. Got his blood all over my sword." Oren tossed the bloodied handkerchief away. "Now say what you will about the Grimm, but at least they have the decency to clean up after themselves when they die."

Clementine rushed him with all the ferocity and foolishness one might expect from an enraged teenager. He was faster than Oren expected. Barely had time to sheath his swords. The kid had a fighting style, striking with open palms or the tips of his fingers. His aura enhanced the attacks, making up for his lack of raw strength. Oren had seen such fighting before. It was a defensive style meant to counter attacks or shove an opponent back, yet Clementine played not to his stance's advantages and instead moved onto the offensive. They traded a few blows before Oren disengaged himself.

"She didn't tell me you could fight." He laughed, "You're well practiced." Oren caught Clementine's wrist and pulled him in close enough to kiss. "But ill experienced." A kick to the ribs sent Clementine tumbling back. A hit like that would've cracked some bones on a normal person. But the kid just brushed it off. "An aura too. It's no wonder you piqued Ira's interest. Too bad for you."

Clementine came again. His open palmed strikes were swift and precise, almost like a dance. The footwork was good, but Oren noticed a small hiccup in the kid's right leg. A childhood injury perhaps. They traded blows once more but this time Oren decided to teach the kid a lesson. A punch to the face, a sweep of the leg, and an elbow to the sternum. Powerful hits enhanced by Oren's own aura. Clementine rolled down the cobbled street of the Buffer, tearing up his clean suit. By the time the rattled kid could stand Oren was there.

"You still have a lot to learn." Oren targeted the kid's weakness, delivering a stomp that shattered both his aura and his leg.

Clementine cried out in agony before collapsing to the ground. He reached for his leg, his hands quavering just above the white bone that stuck out from the torn skin.

Oren winced, "Ouch. She's going to give me an earful for that." He wrapped his arm around Clementine's neck and squeezed. With enough pressure applied in the right position it only took seconds until they blackout. Seconds was all he had. Oren felt the vibrations in the stone almost like a ripple in a river and yet he heard nothing. Nothing at all. He turned just in time to see one large hand filling up his world. Oren reared back just barely escaping that vice of a grip.

Taken off guard, he disengaged himself back thirty paces. The newcomer pursued as quiet as the nonexistent wind. Oren dove out of the way as the giant's fists slammed down with a punch that put a miniature crater in the ground. As soon as Oren found his footing he jumped up onto a nearby warehouse roof. His enemy did not pursue this time. He stayed on the street, silhouetted in the kicked-up dust.

"I see, you're the giant with the ironic name." Oren unsheathed his swords, tossing four of them out across the Buffer street in random locations where they stuck up like pinned needles. The last two he dual wielded. "Let's see if you're worth the trip to this shit show of a city."

Oren leaped from the warehouse roof as chunks of cobbled debris tore through the spot he was just standing in as if it were paper. He landed in the street and was instantly pushed back by the giant named Runt. The fool fought bare handed, but Oren knew if Runt so much as got a grip on him then it was over. Oren danced backwards using the length of his swords to poke or slash at Runt. He continued to retreat, helpless before the giant's advance.

That is until he reached his third sword embedded into the ground. Oren kicked the blade up with the back of his ankle. The addition of the third sword completely changed his fighting style. Oren went on the offensive, juggling the swords with ease. The big man was clearly caught off guard. They always were. He tried to disengage, but Oren advanced, driving him back. Back towards the fourth blade jutting from the wall of the barracks. Oren caught it in the fold of his knee and added it into the rotation.

Four blades spun about, creating a shredding shield that delivered cut after cut. Runt's brown aura shimmered in vast diminishing. He couldn't break away, Oren wouldn't allow that. He directed the path of their fight directly into the fifth blade. Oren swept it up using his teeth. His body contorted to keep up with the use of five swords. The strain it required was taxing. Oren knew he needed to end things fast. So, he jumped in the air, his blades flowing around him. With a spin, he kicked the pommel of one and sent it flying out. It cut across Runt's cheek in a streak of red.

In both parts rage and desperation Runt made one last attempt to grab at him. Oren rolled away, catching a blade in each hand and stabbing them backwards. Each found its mark on Runt's chest, but even without his aura the giant was tough. Neither blade pierced all the way through. Oren tugged his blades free and pulled away, letting the giant topple. He caught the remainder of his swords, one in his mouth, one in his left knee, and one in his right elbow fold. He stood poised on one foot, waiting for Runt to stand, but he didn't.

Oren sighed. _How disappointing._

A crowd had gathered during their fight. Some from the barracks, the rest coming from the Mud District. They kept their distance, horrified by what they saw. All except one. She came bounding after him on all fours like a beast, her face twisted in feral wrath. A young man cried out after her.

"Kiera don't!"

 _Too late._ Oren sprung from where he stood, rapidly closing the distance between them.

* * *

His agility was unlike anything she encountered before. Kiera skidded to a halt, but his shadow was already upon her. The Killer's slashing blade met the metal tube of Buckets' baton. The resulting clash resounded with a low hum. Buckets angled and swerved the baton so that the sword tip screeched into one of the baton's many holes. With a twist, he wrenched the sword from the Killer's grip, snapping the blade in the process. Startled, the Killer bounced back towards his sixth and last sword lodged near Naz's corpse.

 _Naz's corpse…_ Somehow, she knew that was the case. He laid unmoving in a pool of crimson. The wounded Mudslingers crawled to the safety of the crowd cowering against the side of the street. Beside her, Runt was struggling to breathe. Alfie and Greenberg were at his side, thrusting bandages over his stab wounds. Clementine remained still, a bone sticking from his leg as clear as day. None rushed to his aid. He was too close to the Killer.

In front of her, Bucket's hand trembled. "Kiera, take care of ours friends."

The tone of his voice tugged on her soul. "Whatever you're thinking. Don't."

"Stay back, you'll just get in the way here."

"Listen to me, dammit! Don't do this."

He turned to face her. Fresh tears glistened his cheeks. "I'm sorry, but I have to. He killed my friend."

Kiera reached out to grab him, but her legs were numb with fear and he had already set out marching towards the Killer. _No, you idiot. Run away with me. Run away!_

Buckets spun the baton in his hand, which emitted a soft whistling sound as the air passed through the hole carved tube. He stopped ten feet in front of the Killer who stood waiting for him. Their words carried across the dead silent street.

"My name is Buckets. What's yours?"

Momentarily shocked by the question, the Killer straightened. "Oren."

Buckets pointed towards Naz's corpse, the act of raising his hand seemed a struggle to him. "His name was Naz. He was a friend of mine."

"What of it?"

"You shouldn't have done that. I can forgive so many things. So many…But not this."

"I wouldn't stress over it. I'm not looking for forgiveness!" Oren launched into his attack, all five blades twirling in a blur. They clashed in a flurry of strikes. All too fast for Kiera to keep track. Oren's fighting style was beyond absurd. He used every inch of his body, twisting and contorting himself to catch his swords. Moments passed when he was standing on his hands, using his legs to fight. Kiera had never seen anyone utilize swords in such a manner.

With the killer distracted, people rushed forward. They dragged Clementine away from the conflict. Armed Mudslingers that still stood shook off their shock and took aim with their rifles.

"No!" shouted Kiera, "You might hit Buckets."

They tentatively lowered their guns. Their bug eyes frightened and confused. They were children Kiera realized. Not even in their teens yet. All the senior Mudslingers such as Jules and Leff were wounded on the ground. One of the kids stared at the ensuing fight in open awe. "Is that really Buckets?"

Buckets and the killer named Oren were a moving cyclone that tore through the street. The low humming from Buckets' baton steadily grew into a whistling howl. A sound so terrible and raw with pain it cut straight to Kiera's heart. Oren twirled with his blades, wielding them in ways Kiera didn't think possible. They never left his range of reach as if they revolved around him. The eccentric swordplay made Oren's movements random and chaotic. As unpredictable as the toss of a die.

* * *

Oren's attacks were either dodged or parried by that damned wind chime baton. It cried out with every contact, pulsating. He had Buckets on the defensive, but the young man did not strain. His face was calm and his gaze focused. With every second Oren's muscles screamed in agony. They had been overused. He was reaching his physical limit and still he had yet to lay a scratch on him. It was as if Buckets could perceive every stroke and stab before they even came close. And that damn whistling! It was like he was fighting the wind itself.

Hissing in frustration, Oren broke away. "Who the fuck are you?!" he shouted.

Buckets closed the distance. Baton meeting several blade edges. In that instant of closeness Oren saw the seething veins of aura that streaked his face. They fed into his inflamed eyes like reversed tears. Those were the eyes of death staring at Oren for he knew death wept for them all.

* * *

A red mist glazed over his vision. Oren and his swords. The curves they made, like arcs through the air. Nothing is ever truly random. There is a pattern in all things. Buckets learned that when he was still small. He could see the direction they'd take. It was only a matter of adjusting to it. _Nameless_ vibrated in his hand, sending tremors up his arm. Its keening song a reflection of his soul.

Using his semblance bled his aura rapidly. It was time to finish. _Nameless_ clashed against one of Oren's swords once more. The thin blade couldn't handle the frequency. It cracked and shattered like cheap pottery. Oren was perhaps the most skilled swordsman Buckets had ever fought against. But his technique, much like his own was risky. All it took was one break to disrupt the flow of his movements. A hiccup.

Oren's form fell apart. He staggered to recover, but it was already too late. Buckets moved in, deftly sneaking past Oren's fumbling defenses. _Nameless_ struck headfirst into the man's sternum, expelling all the force it had built up since the start of the fight. The resulting shock wave sent Oren flying backwards. He skipped across the street, finally coming to a stop about twenty feet away. Near the Craft District's border.

Buckets moved towards him, passing Naz's corpse along the way. He halted in front of Oren. The killer coughed up blood that drenched his hairless chin. Buckets punctured something with that last attack. Maybe even caved in the man's chest. His father's voice whispered in his head, an unburied memory. _Finish it._

Buckets lifted _Nameless_ , but before he could bring it down Oren raised a quivering blood soaked hand.

"Wait!" he begged, "Please don't!"

Buckets hesitated. Oren's smile oozed red and he clenched his hand into a fist.

* * *

The broken piece of blade from Oren's sword started to move on its own. It trembled at first as if caught in a heavy wind. Then it started scraping against the ground. Kiera leapt for it just as it shot up. She reached out, grabbing the flying tip with her bare hand. Razor sharp steel tore right through her grip, slicing to the bone. Kiera fell and watched helplessly as the flying sword tip flew right into Buckets' back.

The whole Buffer cried out. An explosion of tortured agony. The noise filled her head, deafening even the pain in her hand.

* * *

He didn't remember falling, yet there he laid on his side. Buckets wasn't even sure what happened. He was standing over Oren one second and the next something punched him in the back. Kiera screamed in pain. Alone. Shapes closed in from behind and in front. He was being dragged away. _Nameless_ bounced in his hand against the cobbles. He still held on. The screams muffled as if he went underwater. By the time the stone road turned to Mud the noises had all faded.

Kiera cradled him in her arms. A strange expression of terror and sorrow filled her beautiful face. _Ah, so I lost then. Foolish of me to even try. It's been so long, I've grown rusty._ Her lips were moving but not a word reached his ears. He took her hand in his. Gashes lacerated her palm and fingers. _That's no good._ Buckets tried tearing off a piece of his shirt to bandage the cuts, but his hands wouldn't respond to him anymore. They fell to his sides despite his best efforts.

Gravity pulled on him, beckoning him downwards. It felt as if he were sinking into the mud. Inch by inch. Kiera held onto him, shouting for help at those passing shadows around them. But no matter how tightly she gripped, he was slipping. And she knew it too. He could see it in her sad eyes. _Forgive me Kiera. I just couldn't-Ahhh, I wish I had more time._

Buckets' gaze moved over Kiera's shoulder to the blue sky above where two hawks circled each other. With the last bit of strength he had, Buckets smiled.


	19. Chapter 18

He dreamed of fire. Its scalding heat boiled his blood, drenching him in sweat. The bitter liquid forced down his throat only served as fuel for the inferno. Clementine tossed and turned, pealing his sticky skin off the bed. Hands tried to restrain him. Their touch like ice on Clementine's fevered flesh. Muffled voices called out, but their soothing words were lost in the roar of the fire. Its crackling hiss was a mocking laugh. Clementine screamed and the bed pitched over, spilling him out onto the floor. The resulting pain from his right leg was enough to make him black out.

Darkness was his cradle. There he remained, comatose and submerged without a single thought to keep him company. An eternity passed in the span of a few wandering seconds. The cradle rocked and Clementine stirred once more. The fire had died in his veins, doused as it were by the liquid blackness of his empty dreams. His clammy skin glued him to the bed. Clementine was too weak to break free. He blinked the pain from his sensitive sight. A familiar ceiling greeted him. Its dripping wood planks were unmistakable. Home. Some sixth sense told him he was not alone either. Clementine swiveled his eyes around his room. There was someone else waiting by the window. A shadow in the dark.

"You're awake." Said the shadow, "They said your fever broke this morning so I knew it was only a matter of time."

Clementine tried to sit up but the effort left him light headed. "How long?" he groaned

"Four days."

Clementine squinted in the dark, waiting as his eyes adjusted to the dull moonlight. Kiera sat on the windowsill, her arms wrapped around her pulled in legs. She looked ready to fold further into herself. Clementine had never seen her so closed off. Dried tears stained her face. Her right hand was swollen and bandaged up to twice its usual size.

"Naz is dead." Said Kiera, "So is Buckets."

Clementine froze, "Kiera…I-I don't-"

"Five others are dead or missing." she continued in the same toneless voice, "More are wounded. Runt worst of all, but he will live. We lost the Buffer. The City Guard moved in before we had a chance to do anything."

The memories came flooding back. The browless man with the round eyes and gaunt face. His needle swords. Naz. Clementine remembered checking his pulse and finding nothing. _My leg…_ Clementine tried lifting his head to glimpse the damage, but he couldn't. The pain was too great. Memories of what happened repeated themselves again and again. A looping movie in his head spliced in with images of fire. Too much. It was all too much. Clementine clutched at his skull. He tried to scream but his throat was scorched dry. That black gnarled pit inside him withered. He had no idea how long he laid there for, but when next he looked up Kiera was gone.

* * *

Daylight crept in through the cracks of the wooden planks. Clementine held his book of fairy tales out so that it would catch a sliver of sunshine. He hoped to read but the effort proved too much for his faraway mind. Instead, he observed the illustrations. The detailed sketchings were unlike any other fairy tale book, which either went in a more minimalistic style or cartoonish exaggeration. The stories depicted on these yellowed pages looked as if the artist had seen such things with their own eyes. It was one of the many things about the book that caught Clementine's interest.

The rickety front door creaked open followed by heavy footsteps. Clementine put away the book and waited for whoever it was to make their way to his room. It was a slow and staggered pace. By the time Runt reached the bedroom doorway he was leaning on the walls for support. His face strained and beaded with sweat. He lacked a shirt though bandages wrapped around his abdomen like a second skin. Runt stumbled to sit on the windowsill, right where Kiera sat days ago. Or maybe it was hours ago. Clementine had no real way of telling. Time slipped through his fingers.

"They told me you cried out for Risa when you first woke." Said Runt.

"Did I? Perhaps. I don't remember. I was fevered. My skin burned." He shuddered, "I thought I woke in the past somehow. Forced to relive my most unpleasant memories. Now I realize I've simply gained new ones." Clementine tried to smile like he knew Buckets would, but he couldn't manage it. "You're looking better than I feared. Kiera told me you were seriously wounded."

Runt held one hand to a fresh scar slashed horizontally across his left cheek. "I was…I am. Old Gran tells me some of my intestines were pierced. I can only move now because my aura helps me heal faster than I would have regularly. It's all that kept me alive I suspect."

Clementine looked toward his protruding toes at the end of the bed. From the knee down his leg was covered in makeshift casting and splints making it difficult to discern the full extent of the damage. "I've been trying to wiggle my toes with no luck. I can't feel them. Not even the pain anymore. It's more of a dull throbbing."

"I've been told it was broken in several places."

"Why isn't it healing like your wounds?"

Runt grimaced, "Slashes and stabs are easier to heal. A simple sealing of the wound would do. Even then, deeper lacerations require a focused aura to properly fix internal damage. Your leg was not only broken but severely altered as well. The bone was sticking through your calf. In your fevered state your aura blindly reacted to the pain and tried to heal you. In doing so it healed some things out of place. You may want to consider the possibility that-"

"Enough." Wheezed Clementine through grated teeth, "I don't care about my wretched leg. Just tell me, how did Buckets die?"

"That can wait."

"Tell me." Insisted Clementine, "Please."

Runt turned so he could peer out the window, "When I fell, Buckets stepped in. I know…You always suspected there was more to him. You were right. He fought that monster toe to toe. Not any of those twirling blades could touch him. He had the bastard beat, but before he could deliver the finishing blow…A broken piece of blade stabbed him in the back. Pierced the heart, same as Naz." Runt shook his head in disbelief, "I thought he was weak. We all did and yet all this time…We mistook his unwillingness to fight for his inability to do so. Nothing could've been farther from the truth. Buckets was the best fighter I've ever seen."

"Then how did he lose?"

"Semblance." Answered Runt, "The biggest unknown in all of combat. That _man_ , Oren, waited till the last second to reveal it. It saved his life."

"He got away?" Clementine's voice was biting.

"Guard rushed in as soon as Buckets fell. It was all Kiera could do to drag him out of there."

Clementine clenched his fist so tight his unkempt nails broke skin and he bled. "Oren, you said his name was?"

Runt nodded, "Oren Glass. He was once a student at Haven, that is until he murdered his opponent in cold blood during the thirtieth Vytal festival. I was there. I should've recognized him."

"Has there been any sign of him since?"

"No. Buckets beat him pretty bad. If he still lives, then he's licking his wounds same as us."

"I want to see them." Clementine sat up and reached out an unsteady hand, "Would you help me?"

"You're too weak. You should stay in bed."

"What does it matter? I may never walk on this leg again." The truth of what he said pained him even as it passed his lips. "Please, I can't stay in this bed any longer."

Recognizing his anguish and perhaps empathizing with it, Runt took Clementine's hand. "Have it your way then." He lifted Clementine from his bed. The sudden movement made him nauseous. It took all his strength to keep his right leg hovering over the floor. The cast weighed on him as if his whole leg was solid lead. The throbbing sent tremors up his spine. Runt knelt low so he could swing Clementine's arm around his neck.

It was a slow and arduous journey just to get out the front door. The sun was too bright and shining for a day such as this. The clouds should be crying. After being bedridden for nearly a week the intensity of the unobstructed sun stung Clementine's eyes, causing them to water. Through blurry vision he could just make out the environment around him. Despite being the middle of the day, the streets were empty. Not a soul in sight.

"Where is everyone?"

"At the border." Answered Runt, "The City Guard didn't stop at retaking the Buffer. They tried to push themselves into the Mud District. They intended to stomp us out for good I think. We fought them back though. So far, they haven't tried again."

"Why? They should've been able to crush us."

Runt scowled under the strain of wading through the mud. "You underestimate our ferocity. We're fighting for our lives here. The Guard see that. The desperation on our faces. It scares them. They know they could take us out, but they also know we'd take many of them with us. I don't think they want to risk that."

The wooden homes turned charred black as they walked. Clementine knew where they were going. The only graveyard the Mud District had. When they got to the street they found Kiera already there, standing over the graves. Runt hesitated upon seeing her, but after a few seconds he continued forward. Kiera didn't turn to regard their approach. Her pale brown eyes remained fixed on the freshly dug grave before her. Clementine did not speak. He hadn't the courage. To lose half of yourself in such a way. There were no words.

Clementine observed the new graves. There were no flowers nor trinkets or anything of the like to decorate them. The tombstones were made out of planks of wood. Written on them were their names, the years they lived, and just a few words. Nothing poetic or fake. Plain and true, the nature of the Mud District itself. Naz rested beside his mother. Carved at the bottom of his tombstone were the words, 'A Caring Son'. Buckets', 'A Hero.' These handful of letters were enough to encapsulate everything about who they were in life.

Kiera sniffled, "I wanted to bury him in the wilderness. Someplace beautiful so that when my time came we could lie together. A grove of our own. He deserved that."

Overcome with exhaustion, Runt Knelt. Through ragged breathes he asked, "Why didn't you?"

"I said that's what I wanted. He would've wanted to be buried here. Amongst those he risked his life to protect. He loved the Mud District. Not just the people but the place itself. He died for it. This is what Buckets would've wanted."

"He will be avenged." Said Clementine, "They all will."

At last Kiera turned to face them. "How?" her voice was low but vehement.

"We wait until we recover. Then we-"

"Fuck waiting." She snapped, "Fuck your plans. And fuck you. I'm doing this my own way. Like I should've done from the start." Kiera trudged off at a faster pace than either of them could catch up to.

"Let her go." rasped Runt, "She didn't mean it."

"But she's right. Waiting is what got us here in the first place. I…I thought we could take on whatever they threw at us."

"You thought I could, you mean."

The recognition and acceptance in Runt's tone rocked Clementine. "Yes." He admitted.

Runt nodded solemnly, "Everyone did. They believed so hard in me I allowed myself to be convinced as well. And yet I lost. The one thing they depended on me for. I think that's what broke them most of all. Their illusions shattered in a handful of seconds. That's all it took to bring me down. They lost any hope of victory. Now they fight merely to survive."

"It's not your fault." Said Clementine, "It's mine. I pushed us into this conflict. I wanted it. My whole life I thought I could make anything happen if I just believed enough. If the stories I read as a child were true, then anything would be possible. I depended on that belief. Sometimes it was all that kept me going. Now…I don't know what to believe anymore."

Clementine eased himself in the mud next to Runt. His clothes were in a deplorable state despite his best efforts. Stained with bloodied mud and torn in several places. Clementine sucked air through his teeth as he gently pushed his bad leg out in front of him.

"Do you think we can still win this?" asked Clementine.

"Win?" Runt spoke the word as if he never heard it before. "I don't remember the last time I won anything."

"You won Risa's heart."

The words were meant to comfort him, but they only inflicted pain. Runt's face wrinkled with a sob long and drawn out. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. His mute cry rippled through Clementine's soul, distorting every frail belief he still clung to. Runt covered his ears and squeezed shut his eyes.

"I hear them still."

"Who?"

"My mother, brothers, and sisters. Risa…" his voice broke, "All those I failed. Voices in my head. I can silence the world but not them. Never them. You like your fairy tales. Tell me, is there anything about a man haunted by those he lost in life?"

"There are stories of ghosts."

"Ah, that's the word. Ghosts. What purpose do these ghosts serve in the story? Why do they linger?"

"They can have many functions." Said Clementine, careful with his words yet holding nothing back. "Usually they remain to correct a wrong. Or help teach those they haunt a valuable lesson. Sometimes they remain solely because those still living refuse to let them go."

Runt let out a hollow laugh, "You think I'm mad. Don't you?"

Clementine straightened and met Runt's eye. "I think you're different. And that's alright."

For a moment Runt remained fixed by that stare. Then he broke away. Runt looked out above Risa's tombstone. His gaze, not a vacant thing. He focused on something. Someone. Clementine caught his breath.

"You see her?"

"Sometimes." Said the hunched giant.

"What is she saying?"

"She says, that you're different as well."

The effort to smile was like tearing off a band aid. "Who wants to be normal anyway?"

Runt's lips slowly peeled back into a grin before breaking into a snigger. The pain in his chest caused him to double over. Clementine found himself chuckling alongside him. The loss he so keenly felt faded with every shake of his shoulders. In their certifiable laughter Clementine thought he heard a third voice as well. Laughing along with them.

* * *

He could feel the sunshine through his closed lids. She stood there, her shadow cast upon him. Oren knew it was her. The air tasted of the sweet Rotwheat she'd taken to smoking. That pipe went with her everywhere. The woman had a fixation, ever since she was a child. Oren blamed her father. He raised her wrong in pretending she didn't exist. Now Ira had him trapped. She'd want to talk about what happened with the brown foots. Better to sleep.

"I know you're awake cousin." Ira poked the bowl end of her pipe into Oren's chest causing him to grimace and stir.

"How did you know?" he groaned.

"Look around you. I'm monitoring your heart and it picked up some when I entered into the room."

"You make it sound like I'm in love."

"Love and fear are conjoined twins." She said, "One does not come without the other."

Oren's eyes fluttered open. He was in a one window room not much bigger than a walk-in closet. Surrounded and hooked up to machines. The faint beeping from other rooms throughout the building echoed through his door.

"I always hated hospitals." He complained, "There's always that constant beeping. The floors are unusually sticky for some reason. And the staff are either mean as crabs or too overjoyed to be human."

"This is the best medical care you can get in over a hundred miles. You should be grateful I moved you away from the other patients. I know how they disgust you."

"Yes, nice shoebox you found for me cousin. Real cozy."

Ira circled to the front of the bed, "The doctors say you will live. Though it was a near thing."

"Are you sure? I feel as if I've died and this is my eternal punishment, stuck talking to you in a cramped hospital room. How fitting."

"You wouldn't be talking to me if you had done your job. What happened? Was the giant too much for you?"

Oren laid a hand over his chest. All feeling in his body crumpled to that center point of the sternum. A crushing pressure. The mere touch of his fingertips provoked agony. Even still, an extra dose of pain shot through his lungs with every breath. "No, not the giant. Someone else."

"Who?"

"A young man named Buckets."

Ira raised one perfect eyebrow, "You're serious?"

Moments from their duel flashed across Oren's mind. Buckets' aura, feeding into his fiery eyes like pulsing veins. That damned whistling baton. The vibrations running up his arms with every contact. "He was good, Ira. No…No, that's an insult. Buckets was of a singular skill."

"Evidently not, else you wouldn't be here right now."

"I couldn't beat him in an outright duel." Continued Oren, ignoring her contemptuous tone. "I'd think it would be impossible for just about anyone. He saw through my movements and was swift enough to counter them. So, I had no choice. In order to win, I had to lose. I lowered my aura shields, holding them in reserve so that when he struck me down he'd think he'd won."

"You let him beat you half to death?"

"No. I didn't let him do anything. The strike was coming. I just had to prepare to receive it. And it was just one blow that did this. Just one…and I nearly died. That weapon of his is something else. Never seen it's like before." His gaze drifted to the middle distance, "There was a moment when he stood over me. I was still recovering from his attack. He could've ended me then and there. But he hesitated. Using my semblance, I recalled one of my sword tips he'd broken at the start of our fight. It's all I had the strength to do was just recall one. Yet it found his heart." There was regret in his voice. Almost lamentation. "Fool…should've finished me."

Ira was silent for a long time as she took it all in. "Any idea who he really was?"

"I've heard a story up in Atlas. One of the higher ups in the military wanted to put forward a new program in training Huntsmen and Huntresses. A grueling program from what I've heard, started from birth. Rumor is he used his first born as the prototype. It half worked. The son was a pure-bred warrior. But the stress it had on the boy's psyche was too much. He fled one night, leaving his family household in ruins."

Ira scoffed, "A spook story. Spread by drunk Atlesians in hopes it might bolster their fearsome reputation."

Oren shrugged, causing a lightning bolt of pain to arc through his body. "Perhaps, but if there is some truth to that tale and this Buckets was the runaway prototype…Well, best we keep that secret deeply buried."

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"Unless he has a second heart, yes, he is dead."

"And the boy? Clementine?"

Oren turned his head to stare out the window, knowing full well what was coming.

Ira walked around the bed, putting herself directly in his line of sight. "What did you do?"

"The boy will live."

" _What_ did you do?"

"What I was raised to do!" he snapped, "What _we_ were meant to do. I exploited a weakness. Nothing more. The boy, Clementine attacked me. He resisted. In an attempt to restrain him I may have rendered him a cripple."

Her face sank and she began to pace around the small room. "You bloody maniac."

"Need I remind you that you're the one who sent this bloody maniac?"

Ira turned on him with all the rage of a scorned sixteen-year-old girl. "You were supposed to capture Clementine not cripple him! Did you at least kill Runt Braun?" She saw the answer on his face before he even opened his mouth. "Fuck!"

"Buckets got in my way before I could finish him."

"I never should've trusted you." Her words dripped venom, "I didn't want anyone to suffer. It was supposed to be quick."

"Quick, slow, they all die in the end. What's the difference?"

"By torturing them we inflame their hatred for us while allowing them the time to act upon their reckless rage."

"They would've hated us no matter how I went about it. Wouldn't have made a lick of difference."

"You wouldn't understand. All you know is one thing. Anything falling outside that purview is meaningless to your addled brain."

"I know you." Smiled Oren, "I know your methods. Violence is a last resort. _I_ am your last resort. Always figured you an accomplished negotiator. What happened?"

Ira stuck her finger in her mouth and nibbled on the protruding nails. "Clementine wouldn't accept my terms. His sister burned alive in that fire. Now he's blinded by his own hatred."

"If its vengeance he wants why not give him Moss? All the blame lies with the councilor anyway."

"You think I haven't considered that? If Moss were to die by any means the rest of his ilk would descend. I suspect it's the reason they sent a vain man such as Moss in the first place. The council of Mistral are a proud group, they wouldn't accept a man like that into their ranks without a good reason. They likely sent him to provoke me. His death, the death of a councilman would be the very excuse they need to justify bringing the hammer down on all I've built!"

"Enough." the seriousness in Oren's voice was enough to get her to stop pacing. "Get a hold of yourself Ira. You're acting like a little girl. Have you grown so soft in these few short years? The situation is under control."

Ira chewed on her fingers, ruining her perfectly fine nails. "I'm spread too thin as is. What dependable forces I have I can't just yank out of position, to deal with a domestic problem. That will cause doubt to infect the others. You were my one weapon I could use and you failed. The City Guard is next to useless. They've taken the Buffer but only because you sundered the Mud ranks. They can't even beat back the line of peasants defending the Mud District."

"Use the Ophidians then."

"You want me to bring them into Refuge? Where people can see them?"

"Dress them in guard uniforms. No one will know."

"The real guard would. They'll talk and the rumors will spread. You should hear the rumors circling the precinct about the Mud District."

"Rumors? Since when did you quiver in the shadow of rumors?" Oren stifled a gasp of pain rising from his chest. "What is it you're so afraid of?"

She paused in the chewing of her nails, the tips of her fingers wet with saliva. "It's Clementine. The kid reminds me too much of myself when I was his age. The harder we push them, the more desperate they'll become. That's the last thing we need. With the death of Runt and the capture of Clementine we could've cut the heart straight out of the Mud District's resistance. But now…madness."

"If Clementine is as you say, then perhaps this is natural. The younger generation overcoming the old. Will he stand where you now stand fifteen years down the line? Facing his own younger self rising from whatever empire he creates. Or will the old cliff resist the crashing new waves?"

She shot him a sharp look, "You've grown poetic of late."

Oren gave a crooked smile, "A curse of observation and boredom. Allow me to offer some advice. I've been around. I've seen people killed in ways that would make most grown men sick. But I'll tell you this, nothing breaks a person more than the random offhanded ways of chance. So, if your wish is to take the fight out of Clementine's spirit, then that would be the way."

Ira considered for a time. The burden of responsibility slowly returned to her once again mature face. As if noticing what she was doing for the first Ira withdrew her fingers from her mouth and wiped them on her pants. "Get better soon, cousin. When you're able, I want you back out there to finish what you started."

"And Clementine?"

Her eyes fell to the floor and she sighed, "There was little chance he'd listen to me from the start…Kill him."

Oren dragged his tongue across his teeth, "Now there's the Ira I love and fear."


	20. Chapter 19

The rough rope rubbed her palms raw. Her right hand so recently mended cried it protest. Kiera fought through the pain, barely aware that there was any. She held her protective aura back, knowing full well she'll need every bit of it for the fights to come. While her arms pulled her up, her legs walked the side of the Spine in support. Up she went. Her pace brisk, almost rushed. She hadn't even bothered securing the safety rope around her waist in case she fell.

Buckets and Kiera were scaling the Spine when they heard the shots. If they had moved faster, gotten up and over the Spine then maybe they wouldn't have heard it. Then maybe Buckets would still be alive. Kiera was aware how selfish her thoughts were. If they hadn't arrived there's no telling who else might have died. Yet still, she wished for it all the same and it made her sick.

At the top of the Spine waited more lines of spikes hidden in the brush. Same as the ones they used in their last ambush. Made from strips of rope and metal scrap collected from the edges of the Craft District. Wasting little time, Kiera slung the loop of spikes over one shoulder and set out. The trees whispered in the rush of wind. The baton secured at her belt whistled a reply. With every twist of her hips the baton shifted to a different pitch as if she were playing music. The deeper into the woods she went the lesser the wind became until finally the woeful tune came to an end.

Kiera followed the familiar tracks leading to the truck routes that were known to her. She set up the spike strip across the dirt road, masking its presence in the muck. When it was good and camouflaged she scurried to the side of the road. Hiding behind the brush, she waited. Hours passed and nothing. Convoys were sent to Refuge only once a week, yet trucks were moving in and out of the Quarry every day. During their recognizance for their last ambush they had tracked trucks leading outside the Spine's valley. Black market shipments. None knew where they went, but it was only a matter of time before one of such trucks passed her by. Kiera was content to wait. She marked the time by the chirping of the birds.

Such serenity was known to her once. Back when she was just a wild child in the forest. The scars of shackling still marked her dusky skin then, yet it did not matter. When she plunged her tiny hands into the stream water the blood of the past washed away in the current. Such days were forever close behind. Even now, over a decade later those memories were as clear to Kiera as the water in the stream. If she just closed her eyes she might be able to find it again. Too late. The rumbling sound of an engine approached. A single box truck on its way back to the Quarry. Kiera prepared herself.

The wheels popped upon hitting the spike strip, causing the vehicle to veer. Kiera lunged from her hiding spot before the truck even stopped spinning. The kick up of dirt hid her approach like a fog. She arrived just as the man in the driver's seat was getting out. Kiera drove her knee into the Ophidian's stomach before bringing her elbow down onto the back of his head. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of the barrel lifting towards her.

Kiera ducked as the Dust bullet shattered the driver's side window where her head used to be. She jumped into the air, grabbing the top of the truck and using the strength of her arms to fling herself over. The Ophidian was slow to react. Kiera landed at his side and with the sweep of her leg brought the man flat on his ass. He tried to get up but she pounced on him. Her punch went straight through the raised rifle, snapping the gun in half. The back of the Ophidian's head slapped against the dirt. Kiera thought he would try to get up so she punched him in the face. Then punched him again. And again. And again. Her fists wouldn't stop. They continued their assault, tenderizing the man's face into pulp. She watched on helplessly, reduced to a mere spectator of her own fury. When at last her punches slowed it was due to fatigue.

Wheezing heavy breathes, Kiera stumbled back. Her hands were shaking and stained with blood. It took a focused effort to unclench them. She knelt next to the unconscious Ophidian and placed two fingers at his throat. Still breathing though his face was unlike what it was a few minutes ago. Her own beating heart thumped in her ribcage. Kiera made her way to the back of the truck, dismissing what just happened. She unlocked the latches keeping the double doors secure and with both hands, she pulled them open.

The concussive blast of scattered pellets took her square in the chest, fracturing her aura in an instant. The force of the blow hammered her into the dirt where she bounced off gasping for air. Ophidians filed out from the truck's otherwise empty cargo hold. Kiera scrambled backwards but they quickly surrounded her. The man who shot her passed his steaming blunderbuss off to one of his buddies.

"You still alive, girl? I damn shot you point blank and here you are, still kicking. Are you trying to make me look bad?" Kiera tried to get up but the man kicked her in the stomach. "Think you can outsmart us, huh? You see we were told to expect a little retaliation from you muddy bastards. Though I have to admit. You're far better looking than what I imagined. Who would've thought the Mud District had such a beauty. And a faunus no less."

Kiera folded over the pain and without her aura there was a lot of it. One of the other surrounding Ophidians spoke up.

"Dwain, she damn near killed Brock."

The Ophidian named Dwain shrugged, "Damn, would've been doing us a solid there. The man's downright irritable."

Kiera reached behind her back, finding the grip of the baton. She lunged out swinging, taking one Ophidian in the arm and another in the face. The rest backed away out of her reach. Kiera spun around looking for a way out but they formed a tight circle around her. In her unbalanced haste, she slipped in the dirt and fell to one knee. The Ophidians laughed.

"We got ourselves a real feisty one." Said Dwain, "Boys, teach her how that kind of behavior is treated around here."

They all advanced at once. Kiera swung and roared in a desperate attempt to defend herself but there were too many. They knocked her to the ground and then proceeded to beat her. Kiera curled into a ball. Her animalistic grunts of pain became fewer and farther between until she stopped making any sound at all. Then it was just the thwack of their boots and leather billy clubs.

"That's enough." Ordered Dwain, "She's learned her lesson." He knelt next to Kiera, grabbed a tuft of her hair and yanked her head back. "Always liked a girl with curls." He lifted his gaze to his friends. "Hair springs back in place no matter how much you pull on it."

Kiera twisted her neck around and bit into the fleshy part of the man's hand, deep enough to draw blood. The effort pulled some of her hair out but it was worth it to hear Dwain holler. Her jaw locked tight. It took two others to tear her away from him.

Dwain screamed, "You rabid bitch!" The back of his hand caught Kiera across the face, twisting her around so that she fell on her stomach. After a moment's dizziness, Kiera clawed her way to where Buckets' baton laid in the dirt.

"Oh no you don't!" Dwain grabbed her tail and tugged her back, dragging Kiera through the dirt. She growled in fury, but lacked the strength to pounce. "Somebody muzzle the animal."

Kiera tried to push herself back up but others held her arms down and restrained. Following Dwain's orders one of the Ophidians tied a loop of rope between her teeth. When this was done Dwain placed his boot on the back of her neck, forcing her face first into the dirt. Something cold and sharp pricked the base of her tail.

"I know people who would pay an exorbitant amount of money for a faunus' tail." Taunted Dwain, "Should I make a friend happy?"

Kiera gnawed into the thick manila rope but was unable to speak.

There came a rustling of leaves followed by sudden voices. The Ophidians jumped in alarm, their startled yelps filled with panic. Those forces holding her down relinquished their grips. Even the dagger fell away from her tail. Kiera rolled onto her side. Someone new stood over her. A rugged face with a bristly beard and hair aged silver. There were others as well she noticed pouring in from the sides of the road. They wore uniforms of mixed greens rather than the snake skins and scale armor of the Ophidians.

"What are you doing here?" snarled Dwain.

The silver haired man responded, "Our jobs. Keeping the peace."

"She attacked us. She's ours."

"We'll take things from here."

Dwain chuckled, "Don't you Rangers understand? You work for us. We own you."

The Ranger's jaw bunched, "I don't know what kind of sewage is stewing in your brain but you better empty it out and listen. We don't work for you. We tolerate you. So, don't push your luck."

Dwain bit back a snarl, "Fine. You want the girl? She's all yours. Be my guest. But the tail is mine." He stepped towards Kiera but froze when the Ranger reached for his sword.

"Does it really mean that much to you?" asked the silver haired Ranger.

Dwain hesitated for a second before his ego got the better of him and he raised his dagger. The Ranger's crescent shaped blade took the Ophidian's hand right at the wrist. The fool howled in pain, grabbing at his spurting stump. The other Ophidians moved in to help, but none raised a finger to the rangers who now all had their weapons out. Crossbows and swords. Many homemade by the varied look of them.

"Take your friend, get in your truck, and go." Said the Ranger, unmindful to the blood that blotted his face. "Drive fast and he might not bleed out by the time you get back."

None raised a word in protest. They loaded their wounded back onto the truck in quite the hurry. The Ranger commander, for his rank was clearly superior judging by the air of authority about him, knelt and picked up the severed hand.

"Don't forget this." He tossed the fang tattooed hand inside the truck just as the double doors slammed shut. The blown-out tires flapped, kicking up dirt as they continued on their way. Their hasty retreat prompted a few chortles from the surrounding rangers.

Kiera tore away the rope gag and spat out blood into the dirt. Gritting her teeth, she tried to push herself to her knees. She made it halfway up off the ground before her arms buckled and she collapsed. She would've cried out in pain if she had the strength for it. Her limbs were useless and her head felt stuffed full of cotton.

The Rangers all turned towards her. Their leader sheathed his khopesh at his side and retrieved Buckets' baton. He held the metal tubed weapon before her.

"This does not belong to you. Where did you get it?"

Was that worry in his voice? Anger too. But confusion most of all. His obvious concern struck Kiera dumb. She couldn't formulate a response for the old veteran. She just couldn't. Whatever he saw in her face though, made him grimace. He spoke again, this time panicked.

"Where is the man whom this belonged? Where is Sanguine Stroud?"

"Sanguine Stroud." She repeated, "Funny, this is the first time I've heard his real name. All these years and I've never known his real name."

"Where is he?"

"Dead." She said, her voice breaking into a sob. "He's dead." Tears broke out across her face. _Dammit. I thought I was done with this. Cried myself dry already._ Kiera was shocked to see she was not alone in her sorrow. The rugged Ranger Captain's eyes watered.

"That's not possible." He stammered, "It can't be."

"I buried him myself."

The Ranger blanched at that, "Lieutenant. Help her." He ordered, "See to those injuries."

"Yes, Sir." Several rangers rushed to her side. With surprising gentleness, the Ranger medics lifted her to a sitting position. They began their work cleaning out and dressing her wounds. Things slowed down then. Kiera's vision swirled. She would've fallen over if the medics didn't keep her up.

The Captain shoved an uncapped canteen under her nose, "Drink this."

She sniffed, "What is it?"

"It's for the pain."

"I'm fine…Had worse."

"I don't care."

He brought the canteen to her lips and poured. The spicy liquid burned her throat. They continued to treat her. Silent and efficient medics. Bandaging cuts. Applying poultice to her collection of severe bruises. A slow process. By the end of it whatever the Captain gave her worked its way through Kiera's body. Her vision cleared and her body's aches faded to a single dull thud at the back of her skull. It banged like desperate drummer boy seeking attention.

The medics stood, "That's all we can do for her now. She needs to be taken to camp for further treatment."

The Ranger Captain nodded and crouched before her, "You still with us?"

She blinked up at the man's face and found sharp eyes staring back at her. "You're the Captain of the Ranger Division?"

He nodded, "The name's Ashur."

"Captain Ashur. Buckets talked about you some. He had a great deal of respect for you."

"And I to him." His nostalgic smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. "How did he die?"

Kiera sniffled, "Smiling."

Whatever tears the Ranger Captain was holding back broke through like a ruptured dam. Kiera saw that his obvious emotion shook his fellow rangers. Ashur fell back onto the dirt and buried his face into his hands. His Lieutenant crouched down next to him and started stroking his silver hair. The comforting gesture revealed something between the two of them, which the other rangers viewed with gentle eyes. As if looking to hard would break the fragile thing.

Kiera did not know what to do. She came to get away from all this grieving and yet here she was, spreading it to a whole new group of strangers each sharing in her loss. Ashur wept silently. It was a long while before he lifted his head again and when he did his nose was running and his face wet with tears.

"You were close?" he asked Kiera.

"Very."

He studied her a moment before retrieving Buckets' baton and placed it in front of her. "This then belongs to you now. But you should know, you're using it wrong. _Nameless_ is a one of a kind weapon. Not a club meant to swing and bludgeon. I don't know how but it captures and stores energy through constant movement and hard contact. The hum builds to an ear-piercing whistling. I've heard it only once, but I'll never forget the sound."

Kiera looked down at the peculiar baton named _Nameless_ , "Only once…He never liked to fight."

"No, he never cared for it…What's your name?"

"Kiera."

"Well, Kiera. You can stay with us for however long you need to recover."

She shook her head, "No. I have to get to the Quarry."

"You're in no condition to go anywhere and it will be dark soon. The Grimm will be more active then."

Kiera took _Nameless_ in her hand, "I can make it."

Ashur crossed his arms. "Stubborn girl. Stand and walk towards me. If you can make those steps, I'll let you go."

Steeling her defiance, Kiera struggled to her feet. Every motion no matter how small was torture. Her legs wobbled under her own weight. She couldn't even stand up straight. The pain forced her to fold over her stomach. Refusing to give up, Kiera took her first teetering step. The thud in the back of her skull burgeoned. She fell into her next step, just barely managing to stay on her feet. _Two more steps now._ That's all it took to reach Ashur. She stepped again, hardly lifting her feet off the ground. _One more._ Kiera lifted her leg and planted her foot firmly into the dirt. She looked up at Ashur, baring her teeth in a mad grin.

"Made it."

Ashur sighed and nodded to someone behind her. Something clunked against her head and her vision went black.

* * *

Captain Ashur stood guard at the entrance flap of the medical tent, waiting for the faunus to wake. Her complexion was chilled and clammy despite the warm summer air. Ashur thought about waking her several times, but it was obvious she needed the rest. She slept like a rock through the night. He wondered if she was even alive until at last, movement. The faunus shifted in her place on the flat cot. Her pale eyes fluttered open. She groped her surroundings as if blind. After taking in a few ragged breathes she tried to sit up.

"I wouldn't." warned Ashur, "You have three cracked ribs, a possible concussion, a few scrapes and more bruises than I can count."

Kiera eased herself back down. "Concussion you say? I wonder who-who I have to thank for that."

"Sorry, but I couldn't let you go."

"Am I your prisoner now?"

"You're my patient." Ashur moved to the chair next to the cot. He sat himself down and leaned closer so that she didn't have to strain to see him. "Why did you attack the truck?"

"Can you really not guess?"

"Revenge won't bring him back."

Kiera was long in responding. "No, it won't. But the Quarry is a wrong that needs to be righted."

"You think you can attack it by yourself? They'll kill you."

"Perhaps," she admitted, "but I have to try. There is no one else. The Mud District is under siege. Everyone's fighting just to protect themselves. Such a fight will last forever unless I put an end to this. If I liberate the Quarry, not only would I free the slaves there, but it will cripple the entire corrupt system that Refuge depends upon."

"You would risk your life for this?"

"He would…He did." Her brittle reply threatened to bring Ashur on the verge of tears once more. "You ask a lot of questions Captain Ashur. Mind if I ask you one of my own? Why do you serve her? The Tradeboss."

"You're referring to Ira Glass?"

"That's the one."

Ashur sunk back in the chair, "How long have you lived in Refuge?"

"Six years." Answered Kiera.

"Forty for me. In the beginning, there was no real authority here. Refuge was just another Mistral population far outside the reach of the Council. The city was ruled by splintered factions of criminals. Mafias, street gangs, mercenary cells, and assassin guilds. Wars were waged over ownership of the very same Quarry you seek to liberate. The only reason I ever became captain of the Ranger Division was because all my superior officers were killed in one of those wars. The precious Dust mine must've traded hands a thousand times, each one leaving their bloody print soaked into the ground. Whatever representative the council sent down to restore order either became just as crooked as any other criminal or died within a week.

"By the time I took command I was just about ready to give up on this City. Then Ira came. She opened my eyes to the truth. There is no stopping the tide. One could only control it. And that's exactly what she set out to do. She brought order and stability to a city splintered in a thousand pieces. Bit by bit she sowed them back together. But Ira didn't stop there. She wanted more. She convinced us of the very same. To make Refuge thrive. Better than any city in Mistral could. The Quarry was the key to that. Same as it had been the fulcrum in all preceding conflicts. It would live on. A necessary evil."

Ashur paused to drink from his canteen before wiping his mouth of the booze and continuing. "She promised that over time she would end its slavery…Its use. And you know what? I believed her, because I think she even believed it herself. Well, years passed and it became clear that Ira had arrived at the same conclusion all her predecessors had. The Quarry stays. The few suffer and the majority thrive. And you know what? I was okay with that. Why not? The city had become a landmark in the Mistral Kingdom. A place of invention, music, and wonder. The Quarry itself had become far more humane. I threw these things in my face as often as I could so that I could learn to tolerate. But this…this conflict with the Mud District has gone too far."

"Then help us." She pleaded, "Join me. Together we can liberate the Quarry. End it all." Ashur froze, his mouth open but no sound coming from it. Kiera sneered at him, "You do what you will. But when I get better, I'm going for the Quarry. I'll fight this whole Division if you get in my way."

Ashur chuckled, "You two were very different, weren't you?"

A thin smile appeared on her half-swollen lips. "We were. That's what made it great. I was the fist and he the pillow."

"No one wanted to join the Rangers for years. Our recruiting office was turned into an abandoned storage facility. One morning after a long night of heavy drinking, I came stumbling back to the barracks. On my way, I passed the recruiting office and there he was. Just a kid sitting outside the office door. Looked to have been there all night…waiting. He tells me he is looking for an honorable path in life. I told him to look elsewhere and continued on my way."

Ashur smiled upon recalling the memory, "The little bastard followed me all the way back to camp. Now I had no patience for this, hungover as I was. Some dewy-eyed brat reminding me of all that I once wished to be…I grilled him, said things that would've crushed the hopes and dreams of most other kids. But not him. He just smiled, thanked me for my time, and moved on.

"I thought I saw the last of him then. That is, until a couple of days later. We were tracking a pack of Grimm through the forest. We traced their movements to one of the main roads were a trade caravan bound for the ports was passing along. Must've been a pack of twenty or so. Beowolves and Ursa as big as carriages. To be honest, I thought the caravan was doomed. In my head, I was already writing up the paper work. I expected to find a massacre. Instead I found the same boy holding a whistling baton, surrounded by over twenty patches of black smoke. The only damage the caravan suffered was a few frightened children and a blown axle."

Kiera wiped at her face, "He was a hero."

Ashur nodded, "A friend."

"Sanguine Stroud." She spoke the name with more wonder than familiarity.

"No," said Ashur, "You're wrong about what you said the other day. Sanguine Stroud was just the name given to him at birth. His _real_ name was Buckets. He told us as much."

Kiera stared up at a hole in the tent roof, where the sun spilled in. "Buckets…fuck, what a stupid name."

Ashur choked on a laugh, surprised by her genuine annoyance. "It is a little silly." He replied.

"A little? Damn ridiculous!"

They laughed together stopping only when the pain in Kiera's chest became too much. Ashur stood and laid a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Rest. We'll talk more later."

Kiera looked as if she wanted to resist any sort of comfort, but the weight of her eyelids was too much to be denied. Slowly, she drifted to sleep in the cot. Ashur counted the number of bruises on her and cursed himself yet again for not arriving sooner. He only wished he could have repaid that offense with more than just a severed hand. One day soon, he would do just that. Ashur sealed that silent vow in his soul.

 _Soon._


	21. Chapter 20

Spool dreamed about being stung by a bee. A small pinch right in the fold of his elbow. He woke not long after that. Oddly enough the pressure in his arm from the sting remained. He leaned over to his nightstand, switching on the light and snatching up his spectacles. Old bones grinded in protest as he fumbled in the dark. The lamplight cast a warm glow over his bedroom, illuminating the vast display of items lying about. Costumes, props, guitar picks, and many more nostalgic items that made his bedroom a hording nightmare.

An unfamiliar item sat at the foot of his bed. A life-sized doll. Beautiful like most were with their pale perfect skin and dead eyes. This one was different though. There was a sadness to it. Forlorn as if it were the last of its set. Spool blinked crusted sleep from his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position so that his decrepit spine could rest against the headboard.

"I didn't want any of this." confessed the doll.

Spool squinted, "Ah, Ms. Glass. Forgive me, but what is it you're doing here?"

"I came to kill you."

"Oh, I see." Spool rubbed at where the bee stung him, wondering if he was still dreaming. "May I ask why?"

"Clementine." Her voice shuddered in its utterance as if Clementine were some ancient mythological figure. Spool noticed the woman had been shedding tears recently. Enough to empty out her dark eyes, leaving them dry and lifeless. "Did he warn you about me?"

"He did." Said Spool, eying her wearily."If I may ask, what is it you hope to achieve with my death?"

Her hand, which was playing with the leather pouch around her neck clenched into a fist over her heart. "I want to hurt him." Her conflicted tone made Spool think otherwise, but he let her continue. "You're the only one close enough to do so. Your ill-fated demise would appear natural. My hope is that it would be enough to break his spirit."

"How will you do it then?"

"I already have." She pointed towards his arm where the bee had stung him. _Ah, I see._ The needle left no swelling or redness. Not a single sign it ever broke his skin. "It will be painless, I promise. Like falling asleep."

"Well that's good." Spool swallowed a lump in his throat, "Thank you." His kind words shocked her to the point of disbelief.

"What?" she croaked.

"I said thank you. You and I both know there are others you could've harmed besides me. I'm grateful you chose the old man."

Her mouth gaped open, "Why? Here I sit, your murderer and you calmly ask me questions? You thank me for my service? Are you not angry? You can attack me if you like. I will accept that, but I will defend myself."

Spool shrugged, an effort which creaked his stiff bones. "I'm an old man. I don't have the strength to act upon anger anymore. Besides you look as if you punished yourself enough already. How long do I have?"

Ira Glass struggled to find her voice again, "Five minutes before it reaches your heart."

"Right then." Spool threw off his covers and kicked his feet into the fuzzy mismatched slippers at the side of his bed. "If you don't mind. There is a song in my head. Has been for a while. Never found the incentive to write it down until now. Nothing motivates like your imminent death."

She gestured to his desk slightly dumbfounded, "By all means."

Spool shuffled the short distance and fell into the seat. Already he could feel whatever she injected him with working its way through his body. His legs were less responsive than normal. Or maybe he really was just getting older. He rummaged the desk top, clearing some space and finding a blank music sheet. Plucking the dip pen from its ink bowl he began to write. Slow and deliberate. About halfway through the notes blurred to inky blobs in his fading vision. Only muscle memory guided his strokes but even that was dwindling. Numbness settled into his fingers, weighing them down like a wet towel.

Upon reaching the last line the pen slipped from his trembling grasp. It rolled across the desk and would've fallen if Ira Glass didn't catch it. She dipped the metal nib into the ink before placing the pen back into his feeble hold. Her gentle touch steadied his quivering hands. With her help, he finished the piece. Just in time too. He couldn't move any longer. His eyelids had grown heavy. Spool spared the picture on his desk one final glance before leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. Ira smiled down at him with tears in her eyes, filling them once again with life. A sorrowful life, but life nonetheless. She spoke to ease his passing. Spool didn't care to listen. He stared up at the torn kite that hung from his ceiling. The motley thing was attached to a spool by a piece of string.

 _Oh, how we used to soar. We'll fly together once again my love, Kite._

His eyelids fell like the closing of a curtain. One final performance at an end. He only hoped it was enough.

* * *

Ira Glass stumbled out of Spool's bedroom, addled. No light guided her path. She walked with hands outstretched to feel her way out. No amount of darkness though could hide away Spool's face, which remained in Ira's vision like an afterimage. The ease in which he accepted his death startled her. He had looked at her without anger or hate. That expression of his eluded her in those moments. She only now realized what it was. Pity. Spool pitied her to the very end until his gaze slid past to the ceiling and he at last willingly embraced death as if greeting an old friend. Ira hoped that one day she would face death with such calm.

The backstage of the World Theatre was a mess. An organized mess perhaps, but still difficult to traverse. Ira's foot hit a protruding nail and she tripped forward. Ward caught her in his arms, taking her weight with ease.

"Ira, are you alright?" Even in the pitch black she could make out his craggy face. She's known it all her life.

"Yes," she sniffled, "I'm fine."

Ward dabbed her wet cheeks with a handkerchief. "You should've let me do this."

"No. This was my responsibility."

"It's done then?"

She pushed herself off him, grateful for his supporting presence. "It's done."

"Good." Said Ward, "Alvaro is waiting outside with the car. Come, let's get you home."

* * *

They had built a wall that spanned the entire way across the border, connecting street after street. Mud weighted barrels, fences, planks, anything that could obstruct was stacked on top of each other to create the Mud District's only line of defense. It wasn't much. A step above kindling. But it was all they had. The defenders peered over their ramshackle cover, locked in a staring contest with the City Guard stationed behind their own sturdier defenses little more than a hundred feet away.

The buildings closest to the Buffer were renovated into barracks where people from the Mud District stored their weapons and often slept. Streets were harvested for their parts. New nail studded clubs were crafted from the scavenge. All metal anyone had was brought forth and sharpened, including spoons and forks. The remainder of Sned's guns were distributed to any who could carry them. The whole district had turned into a crude militia.

Runt sat on a porch overlooking no man's land. Rain drummed the slanted porch roof and trickled to the side. The lukewarm water served as a cool release from the summer's heat. Of the five streets running through the Buffer Runt was located in the middle one so that he'd be in a prime spot to help out any of the other lanes if they got in trouble. Fellow Mudslingers were positioned as still as gargoyles across the soaked wood wall. There was little movement from them or the City Guard. Both sides were conserving their energy and waiting. Runt carefully tied off his bandage wrappings at his wrist. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his elbow and wrist to get a feel for how loosely he could move.

The middle lane's primary lookout, Alfie, shouted down to them from his hovel of a crow's nest on top of the closest building. "I see movement out there!"

At once everyone jolted to the ready. Runt stood to his feet, the weight of his arms dragging them behind some. The veil of rain made it difficult to make out what was going on at the City Guard's line but there was something disturbing their ranks.

Using a pair of binoculars from Sned's old gear, Jules looked out towards the Buffer. "What the fuck?"

"What is it?" asked Runt.

"I got no fucking idea, but someone's coming."

Immediately Alfie looked towards Runt who nodded. The boy blew three quick toots on his whistle. On both the left and right came the resulting whistles of the other lane lookouts. Only one high pitched reply from each, which meant their lane was the only one with a disturbance.

"Jules."

The Mudslinger tossed Runt the binoculars. Peering through them Runt glimpsed a figure in the rain. A woman judging by her gait and clothing. However, her umbrella hid her face.

"At the ready." Ordered Runt Braun, "But nobody shoot. Whoever it is, they're alone."

Runt moved to the wall. Its five-foot uneven stacking was easy for him to see over even when crouched down. He waited for the mystery guess to get within fifteen feet before shouting out to her.

"That's far enough! Who are you?"

The woman angled her umbrella back revealing her face. She had turquoise eyes and short cropped blonde hair. Her blue velvet suit and heels made it look like she had just come from a fashion show. Runt recognized the style. He had seen it before the night of Clementine's concert. She arrived at the World Theatre by the concert's end, sparing a few terse words with Monnie and Merri before slipping inside. Runt never learnt her name. She glared up at him, staring down several gun barrels with a solid expression stronger than their own defenses.

"Runt Braun." The name left her lips as more of a statement than a question.

"So, you know my name. What's yours?"

"Adriane." She replied.

"Adriane who?"

"That hardly matters right now."

"You a friend of Clementine's?"

"No." the blunt admission puzzled Runt, "That being I wouldn't use the term friend. More of an acquaintance. I'm the stage manager at the World Theatre."

"You here to see him?"

"I am."

"You came all this way in the rain just to see an acquaintance? Why?"

"My reasons are my own." Her tone brooked no argument.

"Look where you are lady," said Jules, "You're in a middle of a warzone with ten guns pointed at your head."

"And?" her inquiry stumped Jules who after thinking and failing of coming up with any other comeback, clamped his mouth shut.

Runt eyed Adriane suspiciously, "How'd you get past the City Guard?"

"Same way I'm gonna get past here. Because I have to. If you want to stop me you will have to shoot me."

"Fine by me." Sneered Jules. His buddy Leff clapped his friend on the ear and motioned him to be silent with a steady finger over his lips.

Adriane's eyes never left Runt's direction. Her unwavering stare could not be matched by anyone. Not even Clementine. Runt heard the iron in her voice and reckoned that her boast was no joke to her. She'd pick apart this barricade piece by piece if she had to.

Leaning over the wall ledge, Runt reached out to her. "Give me your hand."

Adriane studied Runt's face as if measuring his veracity before clasping her hand in his. Runt pulled her up and over the wooden barricade. What should've been an easy task for him pained his shoulder. A cautious reminder that he was still nowhere close to being one hundred percent again.

"What are you here to tell him?" asked Runt.

"Those are for his ears only."

"You don't make it easy, do you?" Runt leaned in closer and whispered, "You should know, he may not act like it but he is in pain right now. Both physically and mentally."

"I've seen all his acts." Said Adriane, "He cannot hide himself from me."

Runt wasn't sure if he should be comforted or distressed by that knowledge. Of all the people in the World Theatre Clementine never made any mention of Adriane. At least not to him. The reason why seemed obvious enough. The two of them were vastly different and probably didn't get along judging by her whole acquaintance association. Adriane halted her descent at the base of the wall, staring at the damp mud. Without a second's hesitation, she kicked off her heels and stepped in barefooted. _Perhaps not so different after all._

"Jules. Leff. Escort her to Clementine's."

Both the senior Mudslingers hopped off the wall. "Come on, then." Grumbled Jules, "Follow us."

* * *

Water leaked from the ceiling. Drip-drip-drip into the bowl. The rain restricted Clementine indoors. It vexed him not being at the border with everyone else, but he knew in his current condition he'd just be a liability. Old Gran kept the ones too old or too young to fight working at her garden. Currently, it was the Mud District's only source of food and it was running low. The rain helped a little. Clementine couldn't remember the last time it poured like this.

Kiera had yet to return from wherever she went. They couldn't spare anyone to look for her either. Her loss was a blow to their moral and fighting ability. It was only Runt's presence on the front line that retained their resolve. If he was being honest with himself, Clementine knew where Kiera had gone. She either went to attack the Quarry by herself or simply left Refuge entirely. He hoped for the latter. At least then she would still be alive.

Every crack of thunder in the distance was a keen reminder of the Quarry. Clementine imagined the slaves working in the pit, the volatile sky crackling above them. Whenever he thought about that place his mind would always drift to the same thing. The Foreman's 'sticky puddies'. Little globs of Dust infused adhesive. It was that train of thought that brought him to reading the book he currently held in his hands. _The Properties of Dust_ , by Geralyn Fountain. A scientist from Atlas. Clementine swiped the book from a Vulcan Industries workshop a few years back. He never paid much interest in it, only giving it a brief skim through. But on this rainy-day, Clementine dove into its many pages. It contained information about the history of Dust, the diverse types, and most importantly how each are utilized.

It was midday when he heard the voices. Just loud enough to be audible over the rain. They were coming closer. Clementine put the book down and grabbed the stick cane next to his bed. He limped his way to a window and peered out. Someone with an umbrella was approaching his home flanked by a mumbling Jules and Leff. The two Mudslingers both carried their guns, fingers on the trigger.

Clementine grabbed his cane and hurried to the door. The new splint created for him made it easier to keep his leg off the ground, yet it did nothing to help with the struggle. His leg had turned to lead. Heavy and numb. It was like dragging a chunk of marble. The effort it took to reach his door caused him to sweat in his already sodden clothes. He turned the wobbly knob and opened the door to find Adriane standing on his porch. Despite the umbrella she was soaked from head to toe and her naked feet were filthy with mud but she didn't seem to care.

Behind her Jules stopped his complaining and asked, "You know her?"

"Yeah…" answered Clementine, "Adriane, what are you doing here?"

Adriane folded the umbrella shut and stepped past him inside, "We need to talk."

Clementine hobbled to make way for her, "How'd you get here?"

"She simply walked on through." Answered Leff, "The City Guard tried to stop her, but she just shrugged them off."

"She's lucky we didn't shoot her." Said Jules, "It was Runt who let her pass."

"Alright." Said Clementine, struggling to process all that they were saying. "You two head back to the line. I'll handle whatever this is."

"Right." Eager to return, both Mudslingers shouldered their weapons and headed back out into the rain.

Before he could turn around Adriane pushed the door closed with the tip of her umbrella. In that moment of closeness, it occurred to Clementine that he'd never seen her outside the World Theatre before. Her colorful velvet attire while normal in the Flower District couldn't be more conspicuous in the Mud District. For the first time Clementine saw how the others viewed him and his fancy purple vest. No wonder they gawked.

Adriane didn't wait for him to finish staring at her before continuing her way into his living room. Clementine followed her, the click of his cane sharp against the rickety floorboards. He was well aware of the destitute state he was in. Spool's gifted suit had been nearly ruined in his encounter with Oren so he remained in his old threadbare clothes. Every step he took prompted a grimace on his clammy face. None of these things bothered him. Not with Adriane.

Her presence left him uneasy. To show up out of the blue wasn't like Adriane. No, she was the type who'd need to schedule appointments just for idle conversation a whole twenty-four hours beforehand. Her strict adherence to deadlines and schedules was notorious in the World Theatre. Something was off here. What he feared this visit meant he kept caged in the back of his mind, not even entertaining the possibility.

Adriane had removed her velvet jacket by the time Clementine rounded the corner, draping it over one arm. Her white shirt was damp and somewhat transparent so Clementine tossed her his spare towel that he had drying on a clothes line near the window. She threw the towel over her shoulders and with one hand, slicked back the hair that usually obstructed her face. Clementine studied that face as if he'd never truly seen it before. He'd always known she was beautiful in a regal sort of way, yet he rarely acknowledged it. With both those dark greenish-blue eyes upon him there was no denying it. She paced around his living room, studying everything she saw with a passive interest. Her purposeful neglect for his gaze left Clementine even more worried. She was if anything, never one to shy away.

"Adriane," said Clementine, his voice thick with nervous tension. "What are you doing here?"

She regarded him a moment. Before answering she took his desk chair and placed it in front of him. "Sit."

Clementine slowly lowered himself into the chair, careful not to bump his bad leg. He tried to mask his anguish, but for some reason he knew it didn't work. Adriane saw through him as clear as the sky after a storm. Deep down, he knew that to be true ever since they were children. All this time…Always watching, but seldom interfering. He appreciated that.

"What happened to you?" she asked at last.

"You saw on your way here. We're at war. In war people fight. People die."

"Are you dead?"

"No."

"Then how did that answer my question? I asked what happened to _you_."

Clementine hesitated, "I fought…I lost. Got my leg broken for it."

"How bad?"

"Bad."

"Mmmhhh." Still Adriane paced around the room as if no spot was comfortable to stand. "Have you lost people?"

Clementine took some time to respond, "We have."

"I am sorry…You should know that I wouldn't trouble you with this if I didn't feel I needed too."

"What? What's going on, Adriane? Just tell me."

Her stern features softened and for a split second she appeared a child again in his eyes. Innocent and doleful. "Spool is dead." She said, "He passed away last night."

Clementine shook his head, "No. That's not-No. This is wrong." His cane clattered on the floor. He wasn't even aware he dropped it.

"Breathe." Said Adriane, "Breathe."

Clementine's fear slipped through the bars of its cage and became reality. A reality he sought to deny with everything he had. But he couldn't. It was free. Something cold clenched his heart. It had been waiting for this opportunity to creep in. Despair. Its touch was a draining thing that left him asphyxiated. Every breath stifled by an unquiet mind. His vision strobed black. He tumbled off the chair and into Adriane's arms. She held him steady as he cried into her shoulder.

"Breathe." She repeated, "Just breathe."

Adriane hoisted him back into his chair. His labored breathing racked his whole body.

"How?" he rasped.

"His heart gave out. That's what the doctor said." Adriane straightened, "I'm the one who found his body. Before he died he wrote a draft for a song. At first I didn't pay it much mind until I realized the oddity of the music resembled something I've seen before. Something you once gave to Spool." She took out the folded sheet of music in question. It had been safely sealed from the rain in a plastic bag. Adriane handed it to Clementine. "Tell me this is nothing and I'll leave it at that. I won't push you to answer me or compel you to tell me the truth. I'll accept what I hear and that will be the end of it. But know this, I loved Spool just as much as you did."

Clementine slipped the music sheet out and unfolded the paper. His sobbing left his fingers clumsy. Fresh tears glistened in his eyes so he wiped them away to see. What he saw didn't make sense. Clementine slowly read the music and his tears stopped. At its finish, he looked up to meet Adriane's gaze.

"Do Monnie and Merri know about this?"

"No. I didn't want to bother them with something I wasn't sure about. They're busy as it is making the necessary arrangements." She paused, "That isn't a simple piece of music, now is it?"

"It was just a game." explained Clementine, "I would try and spell things out using the position of musical notes. A, B, C, D, E, F, G. There is only so much you can say with just those seven letters, but there is more to music than just that. There are naturals, sharps, and flats. Whole note, half note, quarter note. Slurs and tuplets. Rests…So much can be said when you combined them all together. All I needed to do was create an alphabet."

"A cipher…" Adriane's eyes widened, "Spool wrote this in code. What does it say?"

The shivering beat of Clementine's heart faded until it was lost to his ears. That wilted pit in his gut pulsed in its place sending tremors throughout his body. Thunder boomed overhead. The storm blotted out the sun causing darkness to envelope his home. _Dark thoughts for dark places…_

"It says, anger trumps despair."


	22. Chapter 21

Kiera laid on the cot listening to the soothing wind and brushing leaves of the surrounding forest. It's been years since she spent this long out in the wild. Most of the Rangers were out scouting or ranging, or whatever it is they do, leaving the camp in serenity. Not even the emptiest parts of the Mud District were this calming. There was always a creak here and there from the wood churning in the mud. Even when all other disturbances fell silent there was still that unnatural feeling she got whenever she stood still in the Mud District. As if she were sinking. Deeper and deeper. But not out here. In the wild things were as they were. Here, things were-

Noise from outside. Rangers were returning and whatever news they brought with them caused a commotion. Kiera moved her legs over the side of the cot and stood. A percussion of drums pounded in her head. She stumbled, but caught herself. Her wounds were healed for the most part, but the forced healing was worse than the still remaining bruises. Every patch of her body ached. The initial cadence dimmed to a low thud behind her forehead. It'd be that way for another day or two she knew. There'd be no helping it. Fighting through the pain, she parted the tent flaps and walked outside.

The Rangers were bustling about collecting gear and preparing horses. In the middle of camp Captain Ashur was busy talking things over with a few winded scouts. Kiera headed towards him.

"What's going on?" she asked. When he didn't seem to hear her, she shoved him. "Ashur, what's going on?!"

The Ranger Captain dismissed his scouts and turned to face her. "A few hours ago, more than half of the Ophidians at the Quarry packed up and left."

"What?" the drums started getting louder again.

"They're heading for Refuge judging by the route their taking. Now is our chance to liberate the Quarry once and for all. The Ophidians left the Quarry to a skeleton crew. We can overcome them."

"No." said Kiera, disbelieving her own words.

"What?"

"We can't."

"What do you mean we can't'?!"

"They're heading for Refuge. There's only one reason for that. If Ira Glass is sending in those bastards and not the City Guard…" she shook herself, "They won't be arresting anyone. They'll kill every last person in the Mud District."

"I know." Said Ashur. His face solid, a thing carved out of marble.

"You know?" she repeated, dazed and confused. "We have to help them."

"I've decided Kiera. The order has been given. We're going to the Quarry."

"But-"

"They're rolling out in trucks." He whispered so no one else around could hear. "All we got are horses and few of them. Even if we do get there in time to help your friends we'll be in her territory. She'll turn the city against us. Trap us in and grind us into dust."

"We can beat them." Insisted Kiera, "Save my friends and together we can take the Quarry."

"Maybe, but that will take time. Time, we don't have. You don't understand. Ira has built an empire that stretches across the better half of Mistral. We don't see it because we're in that empire's heart. If she were to call in every asset at her disposal she'd have a force powerful enough to challenge the council of Mistral itself. By the time we reach the Quarry we'll find her army there waiting for us. But if we strike now while she's distracted we can take it. Without the Quarry, her whole network crumbles."

Her knees threatened to buckle. "But the Mud District…"

"A few hundred people at most. There are over a thousand slaves toiling away in those tunnels. Freeing them is what you set out to do and it's what I aim to do now. Join us or rush to your friends. Or stay and rest. You shouldn't be moving around too begin with. I've made my choice, now it's up to you to make your own. Whatever you decide, I wish you luck."

Kiera rubbed at her neck where a metal collar once leashed her to a pole with several other faunus slaves. She felt as if it were still there, constricting her. One step in any direction and the chain would snap taut. One of the scouts returned leading two horses. Her hand lashed out and took the reins.

* * *

The storm had finally passed them by, leaving Refuge in a small state of deluge. The Mud District glimmered as if a new coat of oil had been rubbed into any place the rain could reach. Runt leaned against the stacked wall, peering just over its top. Across no man's land there wasn't a single guard in sight. They had been missing for almost three hours. It was as if the storm had swept them away. Their unexplained absence left people on edge. For more than a week their stare down lasted. To just vanish as soon as the rain dissipated marked the first real move in this stalemate. Something was happening. Runt just didn't know what.

The man at his side hiccupped, "Could be they're hiding behind their defenses. Same as us."

Runt shook his head, "No, I would've heard them if they were."

"They on their coffee break then? Speaking of which." The man stood and pulled out a bottle from the box he was sitting on. He popped the cork out with his teeth before spitting it away and taking a swig.

Runt eyed the bottle, recognizing it with some familiarity. "That's not coffee."

The man's lips parted into a lethargic smile, "No its not."

"Coll the drunk innkeeper." Runt snickered.

"Runt, the former drunk carpenter. Seems we got all kinds manning the defenses."

"What do you make of this?" Runt flicked his head in the direction of the empty guard barricades.

"The lack of guard or this situation as a whole?"

"Yes."

Coll took another gulp of the foul-smelling drink, swishing the liquid in his mouth as he pondered. "It's all fucked. The whole thing. I don't know why it's even happening to us and I can tell you we don't care anymore. As far as them being missing? Well, the Buffer won't stay empty. Out with the old and in with the new sort of deal."

"You think they're coming back?"

"Something is. And I'll be waiting for them. Got nothing better to do. The inn is empty now. Every room…" Coll drank again, chugging it this time.

From behind them came the rush of footsteps. Runt turned to see Alfie sprinting his way towards them. He stopped before Runt, sweat smeared and gasping. The boy looked to have been running around all day.

"Runt-" He wheezed.

"Catch your breath first." Ordered Runt.

Alfie collapsed against the wooden barricade next to Coll, who offered him the bottle. "Here, lad. Drink." Alfie took a sip before coughing it back up much to Coll's amusement.

"Clementine wants to see you." Said Alfie, wiping the liquid from his lips. "He says its real urgent."

"Did he say where?"

Alfie thought a moment, "The map room."

"Dammit all." Grumbled Runt, "Leff!"

The senior Mudslinger poked his head out from the lookout hovel on the roof, "Yeah?"

"If you see anything, anything at all, you blow that whistle as loud as you can. Coll, you take care of Alfie."

Coll raised his bottle in agreement before Runt turned and ran. His flight from the defenses caught the attention of all within sight. Now was not a good time to pull him away. Things were tense with the guard's mysterious disappearance. He would need to return soon. With Kiera missing he was the only real fighter in the district. There were no more Buckets hiding among their ranks. When the fighting started he needed to be there on the front line.

Runt ran with haste, but was careful not to overexert himself. His wounds though mended were still tender. Aura forced healing always left its users drained. Runt moved as if those needle swords were still inside him, poking out. Still, even slowed at a full sprint the district passed by. He slid to a stop in front of Clementine's hideout. The Spine's shadow blanketed the sunken building. The surrounding streets were different from what he remembered. Since just about everyone was at the border no one noticed the sinkholes that ravaged this part of the district. Whole buildings were swallowed up. Clementine's hideout was lucky to still be above ground.

There were voices inside. Silent whispers. Runt climbed in through the window. Almost two dozen little faces turned to notice him. Children. Barely out of their diapers. Greenberg's students as well as those the Mudslingers had taken in. A small army of waifs and urchins.

"Do you understand?" asked Clementine to no one in particular.

The children all nodded before scampering off. They passed by his feet like a little stampede. When the last child leapt from the windowsill into the mud below Runt turned to Clementine, "What was that about?"

Clementine dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it."

"They shouldn't be this close to the Spine. It's not safe."

Using a bent and twisted wooden stick as a cane, Clementine got to his feet. "Nowhere in the Mud District is safe right now. They're coming."

"What are you talking about?" asked Runt, glancing at Clementine's map. An addition of scribbles had been added to its surface since last he saw it. The shaded colors masking out entire districts. Runt thought to examine it further, but then Clementine's words drove his attention back on him.

"A large number of men were seen passing through the hamlets out in the glades. Dressed as guard, but not really. The Ophidians have left their pit and they're heading this way. They will arrive at Refuge's gates any second now."

"How do you know this?"

"Adriane informed me." Runt was about to ask more questions but Clementine grabbed him by his shirt. "They're coming, Runt. And Oren is leading them. They'll be here within the hour to finish the job. Now I know you have questions and I promise to answer them, but now is not the time. We need you focused. Everything that's happened has been leading to this. Ira is throwing all she has at us. If we beat them here, today, then we will be one step closer to Ira herself. Then all of this will be over. Our fight for survival. This struggle. All of it."

Runt's straightened. Protecting the people was the first and only thing on his mind. "If they break through, guide the children and the old to the tunnel. See them safely out of here."

Clementine clapped him on the shoulder, his expression hardening. "I'll see to it that no harm comes to any of them. Now go. The Mud District needs you."


	23. Chapter 22

They passed through Refuge's gates at the break of dawn. A convoy of trucks packed full of Ophidians. Their arrival cut a path through the traffic of traders that flowed from the city at all times. Reaching the gates, a number of them filed out of their trucks. Oren jumped onto the hood of the lead truck to better observe his small army. A little more than a hundred men he'd guess. They were clad in City Guard armor. Past the disguise of the uniform one could glimpse their unsanctioned weapons and shark smiles. Some could even spot the serpent's fangs tattooed on their bodies.

No one could claim Ira to be wasteful. She made a place for all. Even these ruffians. Hard edged and cruel. Former enforcers of gangs that once ruled Refuge. Ira found a use for them all at the Quarry. But now they were back in the city and glad for it. Satisfied, Oren spun around and sat on the truck hood. With a simple point forward the small army resumed their march. Curious eyes tracked them as they went, none holding for very long. To the citizens of the Trade and Flower Districts they were simply an inconvenience. None halted their path or even spoke to them. Not until they reached the Craft District.

The workers came out of their workshops sweaty and confused. They saw through the flimsy disguise. Their eyes held. A large crowd gathered outside the main Vulcan Industries workshop. A debate of some kind was underway there and at its center, Marcus Vulcan himself. Upon spotting him, Oren kicked off the truck and headed over. Marcus met Oren halfway, a good chunk of the Craft District at his back.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

Oren regarded all the anxious faces in the crowd before responding. "It's none of your concern. If you must know, we're keeping the peace."

A twitch of an unamused smile tugged at Marcus' lips. "I wasn't told-"

"That's because you don't need to be told. As I said, this has nothing to do with you. I suggest you return to your stations. All of you. Don't worry, everything will be fine."

Against the threat of the growing crowd the Ophidians readied their weapons. In response, the workers hefted wrenches and other tools like clubs. _Cute._

"How very similar you neighbors are." Smiled Oren, "Both stained in grime and resilient to common sense. The only real difference between you and the brown foots is that you are useful. You contribute. I appreciate that."

All eyes were on Marcus. How he responded would dictate the course of everyone's actions and the man knew it. The pressure was unwelcome judging by his face. Whatever the conflict inside Marcus' head it delayed his words. The silenced dragged on.

Oren cocked his head, "How's your daughter, Marcus? What was her name? Ah, yes, Raina. Lovely girl, I hear. Bit of a tomboy, but nothing wrong with that. Look, you're a big boy Marcus. You know the wicked ways of our world. Do I need to go on?"

Marcus grated his teeth, "No."

That one word was all it took. The crowd's building tension deflated like a popped tire. No one was happy about it either. Least of all Marcus. The man's fists were trembling. Oren patted him on the shoulder.

"Go back to work. Take your mind of things, eh?"

Oren left him there. Standing in the street, unable to look up. The trucks rumbled on towards the empty Buffer. He called for them to halt once they reached the border. Oren climbed to the truck roof and spoke loud enough even for the dispersing workers to here. He didn't care that they did.

"Listen up, I'll only say this once. You all know what we're here for. Consider yourselves free to do as you please. I don't care. Just make sure that it doesn't leave the Buffer." That won a few ghastly smiles from the surrounding Ophidians. "We have till sundown to clean this district up. So, let's get to it but remember…Try and have fun. Otherwise, what's the point?"

* * *

They were there. Runt knew it, though they remained hidden by the tall fortifications left by the City Guard. There were trucks for every lane. Runt regretted not retaking the Buffer sooner. He feared a trap from such an obvious lure and now it was too late. The sudden rumble of engines spurred him to action.

"Here they come!" he shouted loud enough for them to here streets over.

Whistles shrieked. Directly ahead a truck bulldozed its way through the Buffer fortifications. Debris flew into the air. The truck sped past, heading straight for them at ramming speed. Runt leaped over the Mud District's measly barrier and charged the oncoming truck. He clenched his right hand tight and concentrated. The deep brown of his aura radiated from his arm. When they were just a stone toss away from colliding Runt drove his fist into the ground. The cobbled street cracked. Pieces of paved stones blew apart like scrap. The power of Runt's punch broke off a chunk of the street, driving one end down and the other up like a seesaw. The oncoming truck swerved but it was too late. It impaled itself on the jagged end of the rising street. One unlucky passenger not wearing his seat belt was flung forward through the windshield and skidded across the ground.

The others still behind the fortifications opened fire on the Ophidians who came stumbling out of the smoking vehicle. That's who they were. Runt saw the serpent fangs tattooed on the neck of the man who slid to a stop at his feet. Rifle blasts and slingshot projectiles pinned the Ophidians down, but there was no time to celebrate. There were other trucks that by the sound of it already smashed through their defenses in other lanes.

Runt ran along the Buffer and Mud border to the next street. The truck had plunged deep past the main line of defenses. Ophidians spilled out. Without stopping, Runt snatched up a knocked over barrel and hurled it as hard as he could. The keg, stuffed dense with mud, smashed into the truck with enough force to knock it onto its side. He rushed the remaining Ophidians, grabbing the discarded town hall door from the wall and using the large chunk of wood as a shield. Runt slammed into their ranks. Every sweep of his arm sent men flying.

The Ophidians scattered, taking shelter in the nearby buildings. In the middle of reloading his assault rifle, Leff shouted down to Runt from his lane's crow's nest.

"Go! We'll take care of them here! They need you in the next street over!"

Nodding, Runt made his way to the next lane. He arrived in the middle of a pitched battle, both sides retreating to cover. The Ophidian truck had gotten snared in the wet mud. The open street became its own no man's land. Bullets flew back and forth. Amongst that storm was young Alfie dragging an injured Coll to safety. The innkeeper's leg had been shot by a red Dust bullet. Despite this, Coll's drunken battle frenzy raged on. Using his own fiery wound as a lighter he ignited a piece of cloth stuffed into one of his bottles and tossed it across the street. A stray shot shattered it in midair causing an eruption of liquid fire to rain down on the Ophidian ranks. Runt moved to cover their retreat with his door shield. The Ophidians battered the poor wooden thing, but it held. Of all their elemental bullets only the wind types were enough to pierce the door. Luckily none found their mark.

Upon safely reaching the buildings on the other side of the street Alfie screamed. "Look out!" he warned.

Runt was already moving. He swung the shield to his side just in time. The skinny point of the blade stabbed through the eight-inch-thick wooden door, stopping a finger's length from Runt's eye. Through the bullet holes Runt glimpsed the killer's browless expression. Round fevered eyes bulged and his lips parted in a callous greeting. Runt bashed with the shield, throwing Oren back down the lane. The sword remained stuck in the shield. However, Oren raised his hand and the blade dislodged itself. The red grip flew straight into his palm.

The Ophidians took advantage of the shifted shield position and opened fire. Runt spun out of the way. Using the momentum of the spin he flung the door at the Ophidians as if it were a discus. The impact caused an explosion of splinters. One of the buildings the Ophidians were using for cover collapsed on top of them. Runt pivoted just as Oren reached him. Two swords flashed out, their steel tongues scoring licks across Runt's heavily bandaged arms.

The two fought much like they did before. Animals caught in a tumble. Neither could let go. Only this time Oren wielded two blades. One in each hand. Steel extensions of his arms. Runt did his best to keep out of their reach. When last they fought he rushed into the jaws of Oren's defense only to be shredded. This time was different. Seeking a quick end to the fight would only bring about his own. Runt kept his arms tucked close, only attempting to snatch at the man if a good opportunity presented itself. Oren's eagerness for blood drove him into a frenzied assault.

A flash of steel came to claim Runt's eye but he blocked the swing with a raised arm. The thin sword screeched down Runt's forearm. Oren followed through with his other sword, stabbing at his belly. Runt narrowly evaded the blade's tip, causing Oren to slip past. Runt back peddled only to lose his footing in the mud. Oren sought to capitalize on this but a sudden cough brought him to a dead halt. Both men disengaged themselves from the other, which allowed Runt a chance to catch his breath and gauge his surroundings. Their fight had led them away from the main battle at the border. Runt was grateful for that. No one was around to get in their way.

Oren Glass recovered from his coughing fit with his lips stained red. _So that's it._ Runt had been wondering why. The deadliest part of Oren's fighting style was how it grew over the course of the battle with the addition of swords into the mix. A way of combat designed to surprise and overwhelm. Since Runt was aware of Oren's tactics perhaps he decided not to use them. Yet that still didn't make sense. Even without the surprise factor the sheer overwhelming power of Oren's six bladed fighting would be too much for Runt to defend against.

"You can't fight like you did before, can you?" said Runt through heavy breathing. "Whatever damage Buckets inflicted on you, it took its toll."

Oren wheezed, "True. The style of fighting you were witness to before is taxing on the body. A debt I cannot pay because of your Buckets. But you are not at one hundred percent either. Else you would've had me by now."

"Just wait." Blood soaked the white wraps around his arms crimson. They had been shredded to ribbons. Runt grabbed the tattered bandages and tore them away revealing rectangular strips of metal strapped around his forearms. The makeshift armor was imperfect to say the least, but it had done its job mitigating the damage.

Oren flashed a vicious smile, "Clever. Come on then. One of us will die today and I can't wait to find out which!"

Oren charged him, but Runt continued backwards to the other side of the street. There he grabbed a wooden beam holding up a sidewalk roof and tore it from the building. He swung the thing at a leaping Oren. The beam was five feet tall, doubling Runt's reach. It caught Oren in the side and batted him away back down towards the border where they came from. Runt chased after him. Oren crashed down in the mud where he slid, only coming to a stop when he hit the stone border of the Buffer.

His sudden appearance falling from the sky caught everyone off guard, Ophidians and Mud District both. They turned towards where he came from to see Runt on his way, towing the wooden beam behind him. After a barked order, the Ophidians turned their sights on him. Runt ducked low, trying his best to avoid and close the distance. He slipped a hand into one of the many pockets on his carpenter's belt and grasped hold of a jumble of nails. The spray of pointed metal tore through the Ophidian ranks. They punctured like darts through the gaps in their armor. Runt followed up his throw, swinging the beam with his other hand and decking a row of Ophidians.

At the border fifty feet away Oren was recovering. He staggered and stood with both hands outstretched. Runt ran towards him, but found himself slowed in the clinging mud. Forced healing had sapped his stamina. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was all that kept him going. There came an odd screeching from behind him. Runt looked over his shoulder to see the truck he passed whipping around to face him. No driver sat behind the wheel. It moved as if pulled by magical string attached to the truck's hood.

Runt collided with the bumper. The four-ton hunk of metal moved in a single direction unmindful of any opposing forces including the snare of the wet mud. Runt was simply in its way. An unnatural forced beckoned the truck forward and nothing would slow its advance. Runt slid down the street, feet digging into the ground. He hunkered low, knees bending. His grip on the truck was strong enough to dent the metal with his hand print. Letting loose a roar, Runt stood, flipping the truck up and over his head. The metal monstrosity spun through the air. It crashed down right where Oren stood moments ago. Except he had gone. Runt lost him in the confusion. He whirled around, looking for the wooden beam he was forced to drop.

And there he was. Oren slashed Runt's left thigh, forcing him onto one knee. He continued around, slicing his right calf as well. Runt swiped at him, but Oren slipped under and sprung up, kneeing Runt in the chin. Blood filled his mouth and he fell flat on his back. Oren followed him down, landing on the bigger man's chest. Sword tips stabbed through Runt's palms, pinning his hands to the ground. Oren twisted his blades into the mud like drills.

Runt tried to get up, but both legs were hamstrung and unresponsive. He was stuck. A turtle on its back. Oren leaned on his swords, driving them deeper. Pain shot through his body, its current causing him to writhe. Alfie, Coll, and the rest were pinned as well behind their measly cover. Their frightened screams rang over the roar of the gunfire. The Dust powered bullets used by both sides had set the buildings aflame. The Ophidians were moving in, slow but steady. An encroaching death squad. There was nothing Runt could do to help the others. He couldn't even help himself.

A sudden tremor vibrated through Runt's body. The shock wave rippled throughout the district, violently shaking the street.

* * *

Clementine waited, hunched over in a chair beside the entrance. A candle lamp in his hand lit the tunnel mouth. All had emerged but one. In the distance, the sound of battle raged on. His hands were shaking. People were dying on both sides. Some he's known his entire life. Falling one after another. And it was all his fault. He brought this upon the Mud District. The truth of that was keenly felt with every cry he heard. The pain in his leg was as nothing compared to the hole in his gut. That gaping black pit. Grown from a single seed. Even now it threatened to swallow up everything that was once Augustus Clementine.

Small hands clawed through the muddied dirt. The child scrambled up the tunnel exit smeared in grime.

"Is it ready?" asked Clementine, struggling to find an even tone.

The boy rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. He was ten years old with sandy hair and a round face. A child from Greenberg's school. They all were. In answer to his question the boy simply nodded and reached out for the lamp. Clementine pulled it back, shocked by the boy's nonchalant reach for it.

"No, I have to do this. Run to the rest over at Old Gran's. Go!"

Clementine waited until the boy was out of sight before he turned his attention back to the tunnel. He raised himself from the chair and limped forward so that he teetered on the maw's edge. He moved the candle lamp out over the entrance, holding it there for a hair's breadth before dropping it in. The glass shattered and the tiny flame inside escaped. A single spark that ignited the fuse leading down the tunnel. Clementine's hands were no longer shaking. It was done. He turned and limped from the alleyway. A slow going that took ten whole seconds. When he reached the alley exit he paused. Strange, he had no idea where to go from here.

In his moment of hesitation, the ground rumbled beneath his feet.

* * *

In his office at the top of the Citadel, Councilor Colten Moss flipped through the divorce papers. His wife had left them on the bed for him. She had gone on the first train ride out of Refuge early in the morning. Took the brat too. Moss knew he could've stopped her if he had been there. Alas, he wasn't…he supposed that was the root of the reason of why she left in the first place. He uncorked another bottle of wine and filled his glass. Before he could pick it up however, the liquid rippled.

A small tremor shivered up the Citadel to its very top. Moss clumsily got to his feet and made his way to the large office windows. What he saw down there he could not comprehend. A presence moved through the city from the smoking edges of the Buffer all the way to the Flower District. Wherever it went the ground heaved and folded inwards. Tendrils of chaos split apart from the main branch, spreading throughout Refuge. Warehouses were sundered. Workshops broken. The crowded venues of the trade Bazaar pitched. People slipped and fell down the caving streets.

Moss watched on in horror.

* * *

Runt writhed beneath him. The giant's hyper blue eyes were full of pain. Oren stood victorious only for a few seconds before the ground shook. The initial implosion caused those still standing to stumble. The stone floor of the Buffer cracked and tore apart like paper. The scar followed almost a straight path into the city. In its wake, the ground split and caved. Whole warehouses pitched to one side. Despite the chaos leading away the noise was building. Louder and louder. Booming.

As if riding that wave, Runt pushed upwards. His crucified hands slid up the length of steel, slicking the blade with blood. They didn't stop until they reached the sword grips. Runt's fingers seized Oren's own. The pain that followed was a mute thing for Runt carried with him a roar. A roar he brought straight to Oren's ears. It was all Oren could hear. All he could feel. The agony and rage impossibly loud. Oren couldn't fathom it all. The noise swelled until there came a rather small popping sound. Then, nothing.

Oren tottered backwards off Runt. Hot blood and other fluids leaked from his ears. Runt stood to his full height, towering above Oren. The giant's shadow devoured him. Oren tried to peel away but Runt tightened his bloodied grasp. Bones broke, tendons snapped, and Oren fell to his knees. Runt twisted inward, bending Oren's wrists further back until his knuckles touched his forearm. Oren couldn't even hear his own screams. Only silence.

Runt relinquished his hold and Oren's hands flopped uselessly on his lap. Fingers crooked and bent. Oren stared down at those twitching appendages unable to move an inch. Two blood soaked swords clattered to the ground before him. Oren looked up in time to see hands reaching for his head. The next second he was looking at the ground behind him. He watched that ground rise to meet him, then blackness. Fitting company to the mute silence.

* * *

Runt sank to his knees. Blood oozed from the stab wounds in his palms. From the silence of his dazed mind came the squishing sound of nearing footsteps. The hot barrel of a gun was pressed to the back of his head. Its touch served to draw Runt back to reality. Amidst that growing chaos came the trot of horse hooves rapidly approaching.

The gun was knocked to the side, firing a blast over Runt's shoulder. Two bodies crashed into the mud and a struggle ensued. Runt used what little strength he had to turn around. Kiera straddled the Ophidian, pummeling her fists repeatedly into the man's broken face. The Ophidian had stopped moving yet Kiera kept hitting him. She was looking straight ahead, but seeing nothing.

"Kiera," croaked Runt, "Kiera stop!"

Whatever state she was in ceased. Her fists trembled, dripping someone else's blood. She turned towards him, her face drained of expression. Her wild eyes fell to the pair of thin swords on the ground along with the body next to it. She held her gaze on that corpse.

"Is that…"

Runt careened and fell in the mud on his side. Kiera rushed to his aid. She lifted him and started removing the plates of metal strapped to his forearms as to better see his wounds.

"No," groaned Runt, "You got to help the others."

"The fighting is done with." She said, "Those bastards still standing have scattered…Runt, what's happening here? I saw-It's a sinkhole cutting across the whole city!"

The answer was clear to Runt, "Clementine."

"Clementine? What about him? Is he alright?"

"I…I didn't ask," stuttered Runt, "Didn't know."

"Alright, shhhh. Rest. Just rest." She laid him down in the mud. His eyes closed no matter how hard he tried to keep them open. The mud was warm and the tremors in the ground subsided. Though even when he slipped into unconsciousness he could still hear the roar of the city, crying out in pain as if it were one great wounded beast.

* * *

He was fast asleep. Kiera had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He lost a lot of blood. In truth, he lost more than that. They all have. She saw the bodies lying in the mud on her way here. They laid unmoving much like Runt did now. She began reapplying bandages to try and stop the bleeding. As she did so her gaze drifted to the corpse a few feet away. The man's head was twisted around a full hundred and eighty degrees so that despite lying crumpled on his back he was still face first in the mud. His ears were burst and his hands were gnarled broken things swollen purple. Without even having to see his face she recognized him.

Oren was dead. She'd been fantasizing about killing him ever since Buckets drew his last breath. Now he was dead. All the wrath, confusion, and hatred that's built up since then…She knew she should let it all go. She wanted to. But she couldn't. Kiera clung to her hate believing she wouldn't recognize herself without it.

Alfie hobbled towards her. He was covered in filth but otherwise looked unharmed. The same couldn't be said for the rest. He stopped and stared at the carnage, his eyes bugged out.

Kiera had to snap her fingers to tear his attention away. "How many did we lose here?"

"Five dead." He choked on that statistic, "Everyone else injured. Coll might lose the leg. I don't know how the other streets did…I haven't checked. My parents-"

"Go." She said, "I'll tend to those here."

Alife wandered off in a daze. Kiera refocused on stopping Runt's bleeding. All the while the city screamed its agony. The cry filled her head.

 _If only I had gotten here sooner…Buckets forgive me._


	24. Chapter 23

The scouts were right. They had just enough men to stretch a perimeter around the Quarry. One with a thousand gaps easily exploited. The rest of the Ophidians were consolidated at the top of the ramparts. The lifts were the key here. Any damage would be detrimental to what comes after. Ashur split his Rangers in half, each circling around opposite ends of the Quarry. They picked off patrol after patrol along the way. Both Ranger parties closed in on the ramparts where the Ophidians relaxed. The skeleton crew lazed around playing cards or chitchatting. They were still unware of the imminent attack.

Ashur unholstered the flare gun at his thigh and pointed it straight up. One squeeze of the trigger and the fiery rocket shot high into the sky for all to see. No more than a second later the Ranger Division moved in. Their pincer attack took the Ophidians off-guard. Ashur swept through their ranks, his khopesh carving a path for his Rangers to follow. The sky above rumbled something fierce. The looming clouds crackled almost as soon as the flare entered their mist. Scarlet lightning arced out from where the flare had entered as if it had triggered a detonation. One that painted the battle in bright shades of red.

Each colorful flash reflected off Ashur's polished blade. These Ophidians had grown too used to driving trucks and beating exhausted slaves. There was a time, back when they served different masters, that he feared them. Only now, cutting through them like butter did Ashur truly see Ira's genius. She found a use for brutes such as these and still found a way to dull their claws.

A flipped table and all its contents went spinning through the air followed by a tossed ranger. Ashur buckled down to avoid the table. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a face tattooed Ophidian charging him from behind. The glint of a dagger shined in the assassin's grip. Ashur caught his attacker's wrist and squeezed. His hoary strength overpowered the younger man, forcing him to drop the dagger. Ashur slammed his forehead into the Ophidian's nose, feeling the bone break against his forehead. The wannabe assassin toppled to the ground.

More Ophidian's fell by the second, some even fleeing though not very far. Ashur had anticipated such a retreat and had marksman posted in the trees, picking off those that ran. The battle raged at its most intense near the lifts. The Foreman wielded his pickaxe with one hand and a ranger in the other. He had the poor man by his leg and swung him as if her were a toy. One crossbow bolt scraped the Foreman's bald head and another buried itself in his shoulder. Roaring and spitting pink phlegm the Foreman tossed the ranger at his companions knocking them down like bowling pins. He moved to finish them, but Ashur's Lieutenant jumped in his path. Her twin short swords slashed out in a protective semicircle.

Ashur tried to help but he was blocked off by a pair of cutlass wielding Ophidians. They advanced on him, slashing and poking for weak spots. The pair were experienced and worked well together. He might've known they're names once upon a time. Ashur traded blow for blow with them, both depleting each other's aura. They might have gained the upper hand if not for fatigue. It was obvious they weren't used to a fight that lasted longer the first few strikes. Ashur on the other hand controlled his breathing, allowing him to close on both his winded opponents.

The arc of his khopesh was neck level. The first Ophidian dodged underneath it, but his partner wasn't so lucky. The man's head toppled from his shoulders upon hitting the ground. Enraged, the last Ophidian made a desperate all for nothing stab at Ashur's heart. The attack left the man vulnerable. Ashur's khophesh bit into the Ophidian's side deep enough to nick the spine, but the man's cutlass pierced through the fleshy part of Ashur's body below the clavicle. An unfair exchange. One Ashur was willing to accept. He wrenched his blade free and shoved the dying Ophidian out of his sight. The cutlass pulled free from his shoulder as its master fell.

With them out of the way Ashur returned his focus to where the Foreman was raging. The brute's pickaxe had impaled the Lieutenant through the leg, hooking her like a fish. Her pierced thigh was torn to ruin leaving a bloody path where she had been tossed around and dragged with every swing. Despite delivering crippling strikes the Foreman persisted. He swung at a ranger and the Lieutenant was finally thrown free of the pickaxe's snare, her trajectory heading towards the ledge of the Quarry.

Ashur sprinted for the ramparts, his heart beating violently. He jumped up and caught the woman midair before she could fall to her demise. The landing was rough. Ashur held her up so that he alone skidded across the stone ground. Color had drained from her scraped face and out her leg. He stroked her hair and whispered her name, but she was unresponsive in his arms.

"Medic!" cried Ashur.

They arrived in answer to his call. A flock of three. Their hands stained from those they've already tended to. Ashur left her in their care.

The fighting had died down. Only the Foreman remained standing. A squad of Rangers surrounded him. Like a cornered Ursa he lashed out at any who came close. Ashur stalked towards him while he was distracted with the others. He leapt up, swinging down at an angle. The blade slashed across the Foreman's back from shoulder plate to kidney. The slash might as well have been a paper cut for the large man swung around without a second thought. He caught Ashur with his forearm and sent the Ranger Captain tumbling through the air. Ashur rolled in the gravel. Several others rushed to his aid, but he waved them off.

With a signal from Ashur, a pair of his best marksman shot specialized crossbow bolts each with a long length of rope attached to their nocks. Both bolts pierced a leg each. Their tips extended into four spikes like that of a grappling hook. The Foreman staggered. Ashur moved to the marksman's side and helped tug on the rope. The spikes from the specialized bolts dug into the Foreman's flesh, bringing the beast of a man down to his knees. Several others moved in to finish the job.

"Wait," ordered Ashur, "I want him alive."

The Foreman turned towards the Captain, his large shoulders heaving up and down. "Captain Ashur, you're making a mistake."

"No, I'm correcting one." He gestured to his Rangers, "Restrain him and the others that are still breathing."

He turned in the direction of the lifts where the medics tended to the Lieutenant. One of them met his eye and shook his head. Grief welled in his throat. Ashur stifled the cry and forced it down. The acidic sorrow settled in his stomach like bile, burning a hole in his gut. She wouldn't be the only one. Many lives would be lost this day both here and in the Mud District. As his Rangers went to work cleaning up the scene he walked towards the lifts and stood at the rampart's edge. Above him, the restless storm kicked like a baby disturbed from sleep. Down below an untold number of faces stared up at Ashur. The sight of them filled his chest.

"You're injured." Said one of the medics behind him.

"See to the others first. How many did we lose?"

"Seven dead." Said the medic, his tone hoarse. "More than twenty wounded. Captain, what do we do now?"

Ashur stared a while longer before responding, "Proceed with the plan. We move tier by tier starting from the bottom. Remember, there are wolves amongst them. We must be careful in weeding them out. By nightfall I want the bottom levels emptied and gathered up here."

"What for, sir?"

"Because, for some, we will have to explain the meaning of the word freedom."

* * *

The clamor of combat brought everyone out from hiding in their caverns. Mole rubbed the dust from his goggle lenses and squinted up at the figure above. The silhouette of a man stood on the rampart's edge looking down at them all. A crimson storm brewed in the clouds beyond him. He was too far away to make out any details, yet he was clearly visible against the red sky. Mole realized with a start that it was the same image he saw in his dreams. The figure stood as if a god and with a single hand gesture would set them all free. Mole had assumed himself in that role. He was wrong and glad for it.

* * *

Distant tremors buzzed beneath their soles. The earth groaned as if woken from a deep sleep. Then as sudden as the answering of thunder to lightning the floor shook. The auction house pitched to one side, throwing people off their feet. Anything that wasn't bolted to the floor slid and tumbled down the angled slope. Confused screams were swallowed by the thunderous breaking of the street. Its roar washed over them, spilling its destruction out like a crashed wave.

Ira Glass blinked black spots from her vision. Seeing double, she rolled onto her side and pushed herself to her hands and knees. The back of her head ached. She touched the spot where it hurt ever so gingerly and her fingers came away wet with blood. The entire wall where she landed had become a heap of people, furniture, and all the items up for auction. By the look of it she was lucky. People were strewn about in a tangle of limbs struggling to untie themselves. The nearest person had their legs pinned against the wall by the auctioneer's bulky desk. The woman's face contorted in pain. Ira crawled towards her.

"Are you alright?" she asked, having to shout above the rabble.

"Help me!" Pleaded the trapped woman.

Ira took hold of the side she could grasp and pulled. The desk was heavier than it seemed. Ira could barely budge it, but she kept trying. The woman feebly pushed at the desk, sobbing all the while. Her cries were one of many that filled the tilted auction house with an otherworldly pitch.

"Ms. Glass!" Alvaro, her bodyguard who accompanied Ira into the auction house scrambled over the bodies of others to reach her. He appeared unhurt from the fall. "Let me get you out of here."

"No." said Ira more harshly than intended, "Help me with her."

"But, Ms. Glass-"

"Lift." Alvaro obeyed like he always had, loyal as he was. His questioning her only came out of concern for her own protection.

The two of them together lifted the bulky desk off the woman's legs. With a grunt, Alvaro pushed it over into an empty corner. The woman sagged to floor, clutching at her broken thighs. Broken they may have been, but at least they weren't bleeding. Ira knelt to further help the woman but Alvaro took hold of her shoulder.

"Ms. Glass, please…" His puppy eyes were begging. Ira saw that he was not indifferent to the suffering of the others. Alvaro merely valued her life over them. She could not fault him for that. Ira relented after seeing others amongst the heap helping those seriously injured. She followed Alvaro, both of them climbing on their fingers and toes up the tilted floor and to a shattered window that provided them escape. The big bodyguard heaved her up and over. Ira Glass dropped into the street and lurched forward into Ward's arms. The grizzled bodyguard took her weight as easily if she were a child.

"Are you hurt?" asked Ward his concern plain in his voice.

Without answering she looked beyond him. Thick dust choked the air like a fog. People emerged from the haze shambling as if lost. The whole Bazaar had been torn asunder. Its ruptured ground creaked and cracked as it settled into place. The few wandering people she saw were shell-shocked mute. Compared to the typical humdrum of the Bazaar it was disturbingly quiet albeit for the occasional piercing cry for help. Every agonized scream escaped from the smog as if it were the fleeing echoes of a nightmare within.

Ira had left Ward to guard outside the auction house. Like Alvaro the man appeared uninjured as if immune to the chaos around them. With every pain lanced throb from the back of her head Ira regretted not learning to harness her own aura. Noting her blood matted hair Ward moved to clean the injury. Using a handkerchief, he always kept in his breast pocket, he dabbed the back of her head after wetting the cloth with his water canteen.

Ira pushed his tender hands away, "What's happened?"

"I don't know." He confessed, "But the whole city, it's-We got to get you out of here. It's not safe."

Ira turned to where some poor merchants were crawling up from the fallen street like corpses from their graves. Her mind raced. Thoughts of the people, the districts, and Oren swirled. A distressing fear ate away at her from the inside. The memory of her conversation with Augustus Clementine hissed its presence. _I won't stop even if I have to bury this city in its own blood._ His last words to her. She knew then as she did now the veracity of his rage. But that's all it was…Rage. Hatred. They fueled him as they once did her. Yet, she stomped out that fire. She knew she did. Spool's death would've left him broken, unless-

"Ira."

Both Ward and Alvaro were looking at her with worried expressions. Ira hid what fear she had from her face. They didn't need to see that. She wouldn't insult their true faith in her by giving cause to doubt it.

"To the Citadel then." She ordered.

On they went. Ward and Alvaro flanked her sides. Their natural positions. Her left and right hands. Word and Will. Ira trusted them more than she ever did Oren. Her own blood. They had been with her since the beginning. Ward served her father before her. He had always been loyal to the Glass household. His support was the only reason her succession of her father didn't cause a schism in the family business. Alvaro was the first person committed to her outside the family business. Once belonging to a rival trading family, he pledged his service and loyalty when she helped the man avenge the assassins that butchered his own family. That act became a talent of hers, turning former enemies into allies.

As they walked Ira glimpsed the full extent of the destruction brought upon Refuge. Homes were destroyed. Roads splintered. People were panicked. City Guard rushed about in the confusion as if unsure what to do. She could hear the sirens of their police cars going off all around the city. Ira couldn't remember the last time she saw or heard of them. There had been little need for law enforcement in the city before the Mud District's uprising.

 _Would you go so far, Augustus? Too blindly lash out at all the city?_ The more she thought about it the more that possibility seemed real. Paranoia had become an old friend over the years and now it was back like a bad rash. The Trade District looked to have taken the brunt of the damage. At least compared to the Flower District. There was no telling the state of the Craft, Buffer, or Mud for that matter. But if they were any worse than the Trade then they would have had to be eradicated. Assuming that was not the case then in truth, what was hurt the most she valued the most. So rather than an indiscriminate act of terrorism, perhaps this was a calculated attack on her?

Attack with what? She knew that even if he wanted too, Augustus didn't have any means to wreak this much havoc. There were the crates of Dust he stole during his hit on Vulcan's truck delivery. They were enough to cause some damage, but nothing on this scale. How could it?

The cracks that ran along the main road of the Flower District raised the asphalt, creating a bumpy terrain to tread across. A passing car had swerved into the front of one of the casinos, breaking multiple slot machines, each spilling out piles of Lien. There were looters already picking the scene clean. Ira knew this to be an inevitability. In the wake of such careless destruction there are always those seeking to use it as a foothold. They will be dealt with in time. A squirrelly man with a banjo stood on top of the crashed car playing a screeching tune that filled the quiet district.

Alvaro sneered, "Leave it to the flower petals to try and make a song out of something like this."

Ward squinted at the looters flocking the crash site. "Teal will see them dealt with. He is a man who pays his debts with money or otherwise."

Ira stared at the banjo musician whose eyes tracked her as they passed by. Sharing a gap-toothed smile, he winked. Ahead of them the doors to the Bloom Club opened. Five suit garbed musicians stepped out, instruments in hand. In their lead, the young woman swung her baritone saxophone down so that she gripped the neck and held the bell pointed in their direction. A red glow radiated from the open keys of the instrument.

"Get down!" Warned Ira Glass as she dove for cover behind a parked Vulcan car.

Before she even hit the cement sidewalk a stream of fire roared to life from the saxophone's bell lips. The flames engulfed the other side of the car Ira hid behind. Alvaro and Ward shouted out in alarm but their words were lost in the racket of gunfire. The car shuddered from the blasts, its windows and side mirrors blowing apart.

Alvaro slid across the car hood and dropped down next to her behind the car. He had his Dust imbued pistol out and his hair was singed from the flamethrower's kiss.

"Run!" he screamed before standing to fire off a few rounds across the street. Alvaro knelt to reload, the movement practiced and efficient. He stood to return fire faster than his opponents anticipated judging by the startled yelps after each shot. Just as Ira was about to stand Alvaro was knocked down by a scattered blast to his chest. He stared straight up at the sky breathing slowly as if he were just winded. With each ragged breath, his shirt wept red.

Ira stared in disbelief, watching as the life drained from her friend's eyes. In one of the many pieces of broken car mirror Ira caught hint of a shape behind her. Grabbing Alvaro's pistol, she whirled around and put two ice shards in the banjo player's chest. The man dropped his assassin's blade which clattered onto the ground. He took hold of one shard and attempted to yank it free from his chest but the ice didn't move. The grimy street performer looked at her, his jaw hanging open as if he couldn't believe it. He teetered on his heels before falling straight back.

Two City Guard prowlers, their lights blaring, turned onto the bumpy street. Before they even opened their doors to get out both cars were engulfed in torrents of flame. Ira used that window of distraction and ran. Of the Fretless Siblings, the two saxophone women were keeping the City Guard busy. The red-faced trumpeter was on the ground with multiple icicles piercing his body. Ira had no idea if he was alive or not. Ward was still on his feet, grappling with the young drummer of the Fretless Siblings. The old man's daggers clashed against the youth's drumsticks. The exchange of strikes left the drummer on the ground bleeding from several slashes.

Ward moved to finish him off when the celloist's strings caught Ward by the throat like a garrote. The woman had been hiding behind a car for cover but emerged when her brother was in trouble. In her hand, she wielded a four-pronged whip comprised from parts of her cello. She yanked back on the whip, pulling Ward away from her brother. The string tightened around Ward's throat.

The last Ira saw of her lifetime companion he was flailing on the ground, asphyxiated. Finger nails plucked at the elongated cello strings constricting his neck and to Ira's horror they actually played a chord. She didn't look back again. Ward's strangulated visage haunted her steps. The way his eyes bulged and darkened. Nothing like the kindly face that once bounced her on his knee when she was a child.

Ira fled the Flower District, using her knowledge of the city to make a quick escape. Tears welled in her eyes. Above the billowing chaos, the Citadel loomed, a pillar of Refuge.

* * *

Colton Moss made it his life's mission to drown today's troubles in wine. He vowed never to stop until his wife and whatever was going on below disappeared in a stream of opaque thought. It almost worked too until Ira Glass barged into his office unannounced. The Tradeboss looked in a panic judging by her sweaty brow and rugged appearance. She was yelling at someone on her scroll. He'd never heard her raise her voice before. It sounded desperate. At the end of whatever call that was Ira chucked her scroll across the room where it chipped the nose of one of Moss' stone sculptures from Vale. The disregard for his belongings left the councilor bitter.

"What's going on down there?" he asked, his voice slurred and lethargic.

Ira moved to his desk and took the rotary phone and started to dial. "We've been betrayed."

"Did you tell her about me?" asked Moss.

"What?"

"My wife…She left me this morning. Did you tell her about what it is I do?"

Ira shot him a furious glare, "What you do?! Besides from your whores and your wine you don't do much! Oh, except of course starting fucking fires that spawn rebellions! Other than that, no, I suppose you don't do anything at all that your wife or any other sane being might find appalling."

Moss pulled the dagger out from where it was stabbed into his desk and slashed at her. The blade sliced deep across her side. The look on her face was one of perplexed disappointment. There was always that glint of dissatisfaction when she looked at him. Even as the blood spurted from her body she seemed more disappointed than angry. Moss watched her fall backwards, tumbling down the step and over the sofa. He stood like a child with the dagger trembling in his hand, unaware of what he had just done. The realization of his actions sobered him some.

He inched forward, "Ira?"

From behind the sofa Ira Glass hurled one of his empty wine bottles at him. The glass clonked him in the head, splitting his nose. A gush of blood blinded his eyes. By the time he blinked them clear Ira had a gun in her hand. _Where the fuck did she get that!_ Moss clambered over his desk, narrowly avoiding pointed shards of ice. They shattered against the back wall and tore apart his collection of art. Pieces of sculptures and paintings were sent flying. The shrapnel chips of ice shattered the large office windows, allowing the chill air to flood the room.

Curled in the fetal position, Moss hid behind his desk. He stayed down there until all he could hear was the breeze. Slowly, he picked himself back up.

"Ira?" he called out again. There was no answer but the wind. Retrieving his gifted dagger, Moss followed the trail of blood leading from the sofa to his office elevator. A bloody print smeared the down button. The list of floors above the elevator doors dinged G, ground floor.

Taking his time to adjust himself, Moss moved back to his desk. He needed to call someone. Teal would know what to do. Moss started to dial. Reaching the last digit, he picked up the phone only to realize he cut the cord when he swung at her. The snipped wire dangled from the phone like a cut umbilical cord. His lifeline to the outside world.

"Shit."

* * *

The ice melted by the time the office elevator dinged once again. The doors parted and Roland Teal stepped through followed closely behind by a young woman with a baritone sax slung over her shoulder. The Patron slowed his advance upon noticing the defaced state of the Citadel office. Councilor Moss shot to his feet from behind his desk.

"Roland!" he exclaimed, "I've been trying to reach you."

"What happened here, Moss? Where is Ms. Glass?"

"She was here…Not too long ago. We got into an argument. You see, my wife…my wife left me and-"

Teal swirled one white gloved hand in the air before clenching it tight as if he were a conductor cutting off his band. "Councilor, I honestly don't care. Just tell me what it is that transpired between you and Ms. Glass."

Moss bit back a snarky reply knowing that after what he had done, Teal was someone he needed as an ally. "She came in maybe a half hour ago. You just missed her. She looked panicked, I'd say. I didn't have time to decipher why until she started shooting at me."

"Ira Glass tried to kill you?" asked Teal in disbelief, "Yet here you stand, soiled but unharmed."

"I was lucky." Explained Moss, "I managed to get in close and cut her."

Teal noted the blooded dagger on his desk, "She's wounded? Then this blood trail here…and the elevator-"

"Hers." Confirmed the councilor, "She left in a hurry."

The saxophone lady who had done nothing but scowl at Moss this whole time then leaned in and whispered something in Teal's ear. Whatever it was the snazzy bartender nodded his head in agreement, prompting the woman to take her leave. As she departed Teal walked around the office with his hands clasped behind his back in the same pompous posture he always possessed.

"Do you have any idea what's going on right now?" asked Teal, sounding genuinely curious as to what Moss knew.

The Councilor moved to the shattered window and looked out to the city below. The wind buffeted him back from the ledge some, but he stood his ground. A mixed cloud of dust and smoke hung over the city. The lack of wind down below caused the cloud to linger. Only when it floated high enough did the currents sweep them away. The main districts looked in ruin all except the Administration District, which seemed spared for the most part.

"I know somethings happened. We've been attacked. Atlas, I'd guess. No matter how secure she thinks she is, there's no way she could stop every leak. Those brown foots must've sent word to them up north. Atlas would've sent their specialists and this…this is step one. To break up the hard surface before sucking up the goo underneath."

Teal walked up behind Moss, his footsteps crunching down on scattered pieces of glass. "I must admit, I didn't think you had such an imagination, Moss. When the council first sent you down here I was dubious. Had they sent another chew toy for Refuge to play with until it broke? Yet you arrived, the picture of authority. Regal, handsome, and well-spoken. Then you called that meeting. I still remember your face, the sheer ignorance. Like a child you wandered into the middle of the play thinking you were the lead. But let me tell you something, Moss. You were always ever the foil."

Five fingers pressed into his back. Just lightly enough to push him forwards. Moss struggled to regain his balance, the wine sloshing in his stomach making it difficult. He teetered on the edge of the office windows, before pitching over completely. Down he plummeted. Head first. He opened his mouth to scream but the rushing air filled his lungs. The poofy looking cloud of dust below did nothing to soften his fall.


	25. Chapter 24

Kiera stood watch over an unconscious Runt. He lost a lot of blood. Enough to thin out his face some. The district appointed cutters did their best to tend to his many wounds. Old Gran had a deft hand for stitching. Her restless team of elderly and children flocked about dispensing bandages and aiding those in need. The groans of pain and sorrow were a shrill tone that vibrated the air in the old town hall.

The row of dead and wounded stretched from the halls' entrance to the stairs of the dais. A parade of bleak faces gathered to mourn the lost. Jules sat next to the draped body of Leff. The usually vocal Mudslinger hadn't said a word since the battle. He refused any attempts to tend to his own minor injuries. Instead, Jules chose to sit with his eyes closed so that they would hold back the tears. Greenberg watched over him with a steady hand on the Mudslinger's shoulder. Not once did he try to console or comfort Jules. Greenberg merely remained. A presence for young man to return to when he was ready. Mr. Flood held his wife's cold hand, refusing to let go. The general store owner rocked back and forth on the ground. His silent sobbing was a tortured thing. Its mute cry pierced louder than any other.

Coll rested against the podium, hot and feverish. The red Dust bullet had cauterized the wound upon entry, trapping the bullet itself inside. They don't have either the tools or skills to safely remove it. So in it remained, risking infection. The innkeeper's gaze briefly met Kiera's own. His dulled eyes were relentless in their comprehension. So full of pain they were, yet depthless as if yearning for more. Kiera realized with a shock that Coll wanted to steal away the pain shrouding those in this hall. Sobered by the brutality of recent events he would make of himself a vessel for this Districts burdens. Kiera flicked her gaze away. She would not let Coll do that no matter how much the man wanted to help. Her scars were hers alone. _And without it, I am lost._

The battle of the Mud District was over. Yet, Kiera was left to wonder who exactly won.

What was left of the Ophidians disappeared into the mayhem that currently was Refuge. Its utter disarray was the only reason the people of the Mud District were allowed a breather to count their losses. Whatever happened in the other districts puzzled Kiera as much as it terrified her.

"You're here."

Kiera looked up. She didn't recognize him at first. Clementine walked hunched over his cane like an old man. The splint that had held up his bad leg was done away with. He walked on both feet, though unevenly. His suit had been repaired and cleaned since she'd last seen him. He looked almost refreshed if it wasn't for those eyes of his. They didn't belong on such a youthful face. Those were the eyes of an aged man. A weary man. Kiera spent a long moment studying them before responding.

"I am."

"When did you get back?" he asked as he hobbled up the dais steps.

"Not soon enough."

Clementine stopped in front of the unconscious form of Runt. He looked down at his friend and with genuine concern asked, "How is he?"

"A thousand cuts Old Gran says." Said Kiera, "She and the Boyle brothers did their best to stitch him up. It's up to him now when he wakes."

"And Oren?"

"Dead."

Something almost like pride blazed in Clementine's gaze. "Good." Clementine knelt as low as he could and examined the bandaged puncture wounds in both of Runt's palms. He reached out as if to touch, but stopped himself. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his head. His hand clutching the cane wavered. Taking hold of his bicep, Kiera helped Clementine back up.

"I'm sorry for what I said to you. Back at the graves."

"No," said Clementine, "you were right. We waited too long. Should've been more direct from the beginning."

What suspicions Kiera held were dispelled in an instant. They were frail to begin with. There was no real doubt in her mind. Only the flimsy self-fabricated lies she told herself. "What's happening in the other districts right now…that was you."

"Was that a question?"

Kiera slowly shook her head, "No."

Clementine's face fell, "I envy Runt. His resilience. To experience so much and yet come out the other side not unchanged, but unaffected. I can't do that. I don't think I'm strong enough to let go. Anger…It's a seed. Not one we plant ourselves, but nevertheless we cultivate until it becomes a part of us. You understand, don't you?"

"Mine's been dormant with Buckets, but now…" Kiera's grip on Clementine's arm tightened. "As you said, I understand."

Clementine regarded her still bruised stomach and red knuckles. "What happened out there? At the Quarry."

"Never made it that far. Ophidians jumped me before I even got close." Kiera reached behind her to feel the base of her tail where Dwain's knife had been. As if reassuring herself it was still there. "The Rangers saved me though."

"The Rangers?"

"Yes. Spent some time recuperating at their camp. With the bulk of the Ophidians here, Captain Ashur decided to make a move on the Quarry. By now, they've probably taken it."

Clementine's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile, but denied himself. "You convinced him?"

"No convincing was required. Captain Ashur and Buckets were close. When he heard of his death…I think, all he was waiting for then was the right opportunity. With the Quarry taken care of, all that's left now is Moss and the Tradeboss herself."

"I wouldn't worry about Ira Glass."

The chilly tone of his voice concerned Kiera. "What do you mean?"

"I came to an understanding with Roland Teal. He wants Glass dead just as much as we do."

"Teal? Why?"

"She killed our mentor." Said Clementine through grit teeth, "By the end of today all of this will be over." Kiera detected hidden sorrow in that admission. Clementine straightened and limped towards the stairs. He slipped through her weak grasp as if she never even had a grip.

"Where are you going?"

"Where I should be." He said.

"And what should I tell Runt if he wakes?" Kiera paused to correct herself, " _When_ he wakes."

Clementine paused at the top of the dais stairs. He was long to formulate a response. "Tell him it's over. Tell him I did what I thought necessary to make it so. Tell him, I'm sorry…"

* * *

The Buffer had been split. Its empty warehouses leveled. For once Clementine could see the Craft District with little obstruction. And what he saw staring back at him through the smoldering coals of devastated workshops was destruction and ruin. His tools in bringing about this end. The bodies of dead Ophidians were strewn about at the border, left in the Mud. Remnants of the battle were everywhere from the shattered wreck of the wooden defenses to the scorched remains of buildings where the fighting was most intense.

Amongst the debris Clementine spotted Alife huddled on top of a busted Ophidian truck. He hugged his Dust rifle in his arms as if it were his only source of life. His once naïve eyes stared out at nothingness. Alfie was so consumed with his watch he didn't even notice Clementine until he was right next to him.

"What are you doing?" asked Clementine.

Alfie blinked and rubbed his eyes, but didn't look away from the direction of the other districts. "Keeping watch. They might come back. We'll have to fight them off again."

"It's over, Alfie. They're not coming back."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've made sure of it."

Alfie squeezed his gun closer, "You were always sure of yourself, weren't you? Even back when we were kids."

"Some would say we still are kids."

"Then they're idiots. You don't see what we've seen or do the things we've done and remain a child." Alfie tore his gaze from the other districts to look Clementine straight in the face. His stare seemed to pass right through him. "I killed a man today. I shot him with this here rifle. Steady grip and the squeeze of a finger. Just like Naz taught me. If I didn't he would've killed Coll. He would've killed me too. I know this and yet…Why do I feel this awful?"

"Because you're a good person, Alfie."

"Not long ago, I was a grubby kid betting all I had at the Mudslinger's tables. All I wanted to do was help. If we had in the store some of the things Sned had..."

Clementine shifted his stance in the mud to face Craft District. "You should head back. See your dad."

Alfie turned away from him, "He won't let go."

"He needs you, Alfie. Now more than ever. Go to him. Help like you've always wanted."

Sniffling, Alfie climbed to his feet. The gun slipped from his grip and tumbled to the ground below. Its release brought tears to his eyes. Before he could bawl, Alfie took off in the direction Clementine just came from.

Clementine stood alone at the border recalling his time spent at Greenberg's school, when he and Alife were friends. Or were they? On second thought, Clementine didn't remember having any friends. Back then Alfie scorned Clementine as a know-it-all. _Layers of paint._ Clementine discarded the confused jumble of conflicting memories and continued on into the Craft District. People were already hard at work in restoring what they could and helping those that needed it.

 _Ever diligent the people of the Craft._

On his way through Clementine locked eyes with Marcus Vulcan. The artisan stood outside his wrecked workshop cradling his daughter Raina who cried out with tears on her cheeks. His awed expression didn't hold. It crumbled away out of shame. Clementine moved on to the Trade District. He forced himself to watch. Not once did he shy away like Vulcan did. Clementine took note of the homes he's collapsed, businesses squashed, and lives ruined. The linked detonation of Dust throughout the tunnel wasn't powerful enough to burst the surface. Only unsettle the ground. Let it cave. A sinkhole. He thought that apt.

With the city in such a state Clementine glided past without anyone taking notice or caring about the mud on his feet. They themselves were covered in grime, while he was clean and finely dressed. It was a long walk to the World Theatre. The treacherous terrain made for tough travel. Still, not as difficult as he might've imagined. Clementine's limp came naturally to him. He always felt something off about his right leg. As if it never fully healed. That dull ache he's bore these past six years served to ease the transition in a way.

To his relief, the World Theatre remained unscathed by the destruction. Clementine let himself in through the back door. As he expected the place was empty. He had taken precaution to make sure all his theatre friends were safe outside the city before today. If things went untroubled then Monnie and Merri would be laying Spool to rest out in the glades where he grew up. Clementine wished he were there.

Amongst the racks of costumes was a knocked over set. Clementine examined the mess, noticing stains of blood on the silk outfits. A chill crept up Clementine's spine. His eyes followed the bloody trail to the clothes lined changing rooms, disappearing beyond his purple curtain. Clementine approached. The click of his stick cane rebounded throughout the theatre. With a sweep of his hand he pushed the cloth aside.

Ira Glass sat on his stool in the middle of his curtained changing room holding a fistful of dress silk to a slash on her side. The wound bled into the costumes staining the bundle red. She smiled at his surprise, "Expecting someone else?"

Clementine rubbed the shock from his face, "I feared you killed another friend of mine."

"Another? I didn't start that fire."

"No, but you sent your cousin who killed Naz and Buckets."

"Like I had a choice. I offered you peace and you refused me. You wanted conflict. Their deaths are on you just as much as they are on me."

"What about Spool? Did you have a choice there?"

The realization drained her already fleeting life. "I mourned his passing."

"So did Teal."

Her eyes squeezed shut as if trying to recall something. "The music."

"His last piece." Confirmed Clementine, "A will in fact, and in it he named you his murderer."

"It was painless." She winced, "Same couldn't be said for every death. I stayed with him until the very end. No one should die alone."

"My sister did." Clementine circled around Glass so that he could lean against his dresser for support. She eyed his limp.

"Is he dead? My cousin."

"He's not the only one."

"No, I sincerely doubted he would be. Just how many do you think, huh? How many have lost their lives over this…this squabble? How many by your own hands? It was you, was it not? Ahh, don't bother answering. I saw the guilt on you the moment you pulled aside that curtain." Ira's alabaster skin took on a sickly yellow shade. "It took me years to build what we had here. Years…And you pulled it apart in a matter of days."

"It's a funny thing." Clementine sniffled a laugh, "Spool by nature was a peaceful man. I am not. He knew that revealing the true circumstances of his death to me would bring about more bloodshed. More conflict. In his will he confessed the truth only because he despised your intention to break my spirit. Still…Even after you murdered him Spool pleaded with me not to seek vengeance. That's the kind of man he was. He was selfless and kind and you killed him." Clementine slammed his cane down, "Why did you do that?! He had no part in our war. He was innocent!"

Weak and bleeding, Ira met his mournful fury with a steady gaze. "So are the citizens of Refuge."

" _No_." Clementine spat out the word, "They sold away that virtue with their own indifference. What innocence was left in this city died today."

Ira Glass let her gaze fall away, "Then I mourn for its loss."

"Why are you here?"

She took a few shuddered breathes before responding. "Roland has the hospital surrounded. His Fretless Siblings are everywhere looking for me. Every down on their luck musician is seeking my head in hopes of currying favor with the Patron. Before long he'd have the City Guard as well. I figured this would be the last place anyone would expect to find me."

"And Moss? Where is he?"

"The Citadel I imagine. I have no doubt Roland will worm his way in there before long." She bore a wicked smile and in that moment Clementine saw the family resemblance she had with Oren. "I hope he does. Colton Moss' death would be the one good thing that would come out of this mess."

"You despise him so?"

Ira closed her eyes just barely willing herself to stay conscious by the look of it. "People like Moss have plagued my whole life. Being in my position, a position of power, requires sacrifice. To make promises to friends knowing you will have to break them. To entertain people who so outwardly oppose every fiber of your being just to get what it is you desire. Eventually you find yourself surrounded by strangers. Moss is the one who started all this. Now he's killed me."

Blood dripped onto the floor, gathering itself into a puddle at the base of the chair. Ira Glass reached down into her pocket where her pipe stuck out from. Her hands trembled bringing it to her pale lips. Holding the pipe between her teeth she pulled on the leather pouch of Rotwheat, snapping the necklace laced around her neck. Her fingers fumbled trying to pry open the pouch. Clementine clasped her hand in his, her skin hot to the touch. He gently pried the pouch away from her fast fading grip. Without saying a word, he began packing the Rotwheat into the bowl end of the pipe. Next to the candle at his dresser Clementine picked up his matches. With a single flick, the flame blossomed. Ira tilted her head downwards so that Clementine could light the Rotwheat.

The sweet-smelling herb brought a little color back to Ira's cheeks. As she drew on the pipe her slate colored eyes met his own. All defenses were stripped away from that gaze. No longer were they the solid unrevealing things he's come to dream about. They held nothing back. All that was Ira Glass poured out of those eyes and into his soul. For the first time, Clementine saw what she really was…Lonely.

He stayed with her till the end.

* * *

The rows of red cushioned seats were all empty. Even the noise outside submitted itself to the silent void of the theatre. That is until Roland Teal arrived. The pitter-patter of his footfalls drew closer. He joined Clementine on stage, facing the nonexistent crowd. Two students of Spool, united under the shared loss of their mentor.

"I thought I'd find you here." Said Teal after a prolonged silence.

Clementine spared him a glance, "How is it out there?"

"Things are settling down. Though, Ira Glass is still missing. Probably hidden away in some secret hovel. I'm sweeping the city for her as we speak."

"No need." Said Clementine, "She's backstage in my dressing room."

The utter shock on Teal's face was a rare picture. He stormed off backstage, the echo of his footsteps fleeing into silence. It wasn't long before he returned a considerable shade paler. His face scrunched in thought. There was a period were neither man spoke. Clementine waited for the news to fully sink in and pass Teal's features before asking his question.

"What of Colton Moss?"

The Patron allowed himself a smirk, "Taken with grief from his wife's sudden flight and the devastation of his beloved city. Believing himself responsible for both, Councilor Moss leapt from the highest window of the Citadel. A fine story, don't you think?"

"It's done then."

Teal wiped his gloved hands together, "Good riddance."

"Any word from your daughter?" asked Clementine.

"Adriane sent a message. Spool has been laid to rest next to Kite. As requested. Those two were inseparable in life. Death will be no different. In light of recent events they elected to stay out in the glades for a little while. Adriane requested you come join them."

"Did she say why?"

"I imagine Monnie and Merri are worried about you."

Clementine raised an eyebrow, "She never gave you a reason?"

"My sweet Adriane speaks with as few words as possible, especially when it comes to me."

"She hates your guts."

"Yes, but that hardly matters now."

"Adriane. Your daughter…All this time and she never told me."

"Did you ever ask?"

Clementine grunted, "I suppose not. You should know, the Rangers have most likely taken over the Quarry."

Teal hid his shock well, "Things are moving faster than I anticipated. In the coming months, everything Ira built will come crumbling down. Her whole network. The ripples of that fall will be felt throughout Mistral for years to come."

"You admired her."

"How could you not? What she accomplished here was nothing less than grand. You forget, I helped her do it. I was willing to shoulder the burden of the Quarry if it meant Refuge's prosperity. Her only mistake was listening to her blood crazed cousin. She should've known better." It was impossible to tell if his regret came from Spool's loss or Ira's slip in judgment. "Word of this will travel. The Quarry will be rooted out and scandalized by every kingdom. Atlas in particular. I will pick up the pieces as best I can, but there will be no hiding the connection between Vulcan Industries and the slave mined Dust. Marcus is the one who built the lifts after all."

"Can you shift the blame?" asked Clementine.

Teal raised a curious brow, "In what way?"

"Marcus Vulcan knew nothing of the Quarry. Can you spin that?"

"It will be hard to stick. With Ira and Moss gone the people will want a scapegoat to blame for all this. Including today's… _events_. The masses are carnivorous. They'll want blood and that only comes from someone still alive. Marcus is the only one left and I'm certainly not offering up myself."

"Use me then. I knew of the Quarry and told no one. I caused the destruction throughout the city."

"No one knows who you are."

"Then introduce me. Bring my story to life. If they want someone to hate let it be me."

Teal turned to face Clementine directly. "Why?"

Clementine regarded Teal out of the corner of his eye, "Because I hate them."

"Even if that were true-"

"It is. I hate this city. I must. After all, I put caches of Dust underneath its streets and lit the fuse."

"Yes..." drawled Teal, "When you mentioned something of a distraction I was picturing something a little more subtle. But, regardless. If you hated this city then why would you want to protect Marcus Vulcan? A man some would say is the paragon of Refuge."

"I have no family that will be hurt by the slandering of my name." answered Clementine. His thoughts were drawn to that of Raina Vulcan. Her small outstretched hand reaching for her father's destroyed livelihood. The tears upon her cheeks. Clementine did that. He made a little girl cry. That thought alone left him strangely unbalanced.

"So be it then." Said Teal, "I'll do as you say, though I make no promises."

"Thank you."

Teal took in the scene of the empty theatre one last time. "Right, well I should be off. There's a lot to oversee. Both here and at the Quarry. I'll make sure this place gets cleaned up before Adriane and the rest return." Teal took his leave, but before he disappeared behind the backstage curtain he stopped and half turned around. "What will you do now?"

Yes, Clementine had been wondering about that all day. What now? Still he had no answer. For as long as he could remember he had been preparing for the future. Always with a plan but never until Sned's confession did he have a goal. With it now achieved, he couldn't see past the current day. Whenever he tried to glimpse the future all he saw was his immediate past. The bodies in the mud. The splintered streets. They blinded him, leaving Clementine stumbling and lost within himself. His drawn-out silence conveyed a better answer to Teal's question than any words could. And with that the man left, leaving Clementine alone in the theatre. Though in truth he was not alone. The rows or red seats were packed full of ghosts. Familiar and stranger. All met his eye.


	26. Chapter 25

Whispers about what was happening stirred the people. Whatever battle took place above was finished. They wondered at the significance of that. Whoever had come to free them started evacuating from the bottom level. Mole watched the lifts move up packed full of workers and return empty. Being on one of the lower levels they would reach him soon. Eager to leave, Mole raced back into the cavern he had been tunneling through in search of his belongings. All he owned could fit in a little sack. Just some spare rags, a few peculiarly shaped chips of Dust he kept for himself, and a clay action figure he inherited from a fellow tunneler who succumbed to the shakes. He tied his bundle of items in a tight knot and slung it across his back.

"Going somewhere?"

Mole spun around. They came sauntering towards him from down the cavern. A whole gang of mean men and women. Their cruel smiles were wider than usual. Mole recognized the one who talked. Vance, the de facto leader on this level.

"You know what's happening, don't you?" asked Vance.

Mole didn't reply. He didn't know how. They never spoke to him directly before. The mean men and women fanned out so that they blocked off any way past them. Vance approached him directly. Sharp talons grew from his fingers. The sinewy shifting sound of the retractable talons coming out caused a shiver to run down Mole's spine. Vance held a hand out to the side, lazily dragging his talons across the cavern wall.

"It's Mole, right?"

Mole timidly nodded and retreated some several steps.

"Thing is, Mole, the Ophidians are done. The Foreman is either dead or captured. The Rangers have come to liberate the Quarry. But they won't just let us all go. No, word is they're being careful to pick out the bad apples. So, I can't have people going around yapping about what it is I made for myself here. Do you understand?"

Mole slowly backed away from the advancing man. "I understand." He murmured, his heart pounding in his chest.

Vance scraped his talons off the cavern wall with an ear-piercing screech. "Thing is, unlike most on this level I don't think I can trust you. Spoiled tunneler that you are. You'll squeal, I know it. I've already taken care of all the squealers. All except you."

In that moment, Mole noticed the stains of red on their pickaxes. None of this was right. Mole hadn't grown enough to be tossed aside yet. He was still young. Still small. Useful. He didn't want to die. A whole world waited for him outside the Quarry. He knew that to be true. It had to be. Fearing for his short life, Mole bolted in the opposite direction going deeper into the cavern. Vance and his thugs followed.

* * *

The man who had once considered himself a king woke up on a bed of rocks. Sned sat up, rasping a cough. Pain filled his lungs with every haggard breath. The Quarry fumes had singed his throat, but it was the dent in his chest which pained him so. An injury from just a short while ago, yet his life before arriving at the Quarry seemed a distant memory to the former Mudslinger leader. It was unusually quiet in the cavern he found himself in. No squawking overseers. No dings of the pickaxe striking stone. Just a hollow sort of silence. One that creeped in from the lurking shadows haunting deep caverns.

In the night past, Sned remembered waking slightly when others dribbled some water down his throat. Whoever they may have been were gone. They had moved him he knew. The bottom most level of the Quarry proved too much for him. He had collapsed while picking away at a cavern wall. This time for good. Sned couldn't get back up. He didn't want to. Then as if on a whim a couple of other slaves dragged him away. They put him on a lift and sent him a few levels up to recover.

 _Bastards couldn't just leave me to die?_ Sned stood and started wandering the cavern in search of the exit. He took his shovel with him knowing that if an Ophidian overseer caught him without a tool in hand they would assume he was slacking off and beat him. These tunnels were much deeper and more complex than the freshly dug ones on the lowest level. Place was like a maze with all its turns and split paths. His only guide was to stick to the light of the torches which illuminated the main parts of the cavern. Any turn that gave way to darkness he avoided.

Sned walked a long while, not once running into anyone. It's as if the cavern had been abandoned. Just when he thought he was good and lost there came an echo of voices. Sned followed it. What he found at its source was odd to say the least. A group of slaves were gathered around a cavern wall, shouting insults and threats at it. One of them thrust their arm in a wall fissure as if making a grab at something inside that thin crease. The man screamed and his friends had to pull him back. When they did his arm came out missing two fingers on his hand.

"He bit me!" screamed the red-faced slave.

The obvious leader of the pack shoved his bleeding friend aside and shouted into the crevasse. "Come on out, Mole! You're only making it worse for yourself!"

From the crevasse came the small whimpering of a child. Sned knew he just stumbled across something better avoided. He backed away, his foot accidently kicking what looked like a clay action figure and drawing the group's attention. They whirled around, brandishing pickaxes. Their leader, for he was clearly that judging by how the others looked to him, grew sharp talons like that of an eagle.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked the faunus.

"No one." Replied Sned.

"Look at his hands, Vance." Said one of the slaves, pointing with her pickaxe. "He must be new."

The leader named Vance gave a ghastly smile, "You chose an auspicious time to get thrown away in here."

"What are you doing?" asked Sned, utterly disregarding their hostility towards the question.

"Just straightening some things out." Answered Vance, "Good news friend, our enslavement here has come to an end. We're getting out."

Sned cocked his head at the man, "Out?"

"That's right. The Rangers have slaughtered the Ophidians and are even now working to liberate us."

"Ah, so that's where everyone went. What are you doing here then?"

"Pest control." Said Vance, winning some laughs amongst his subordinates. "What's your name, friend?"

"I told you, I'm no one. Same as all of you."

Vance's smile shriveled, "What's that mean?"

"We don't deserve to leave here."

All amusement in their stupid faces fell away. Replaced with ugly snarls. They looked to Vance, just waiting for the order. They were worse than Mudslingers. Sned had to at least draw them into his schemes with gifts or words. These pinch-faced people just sat cawing at Vance's feet waiting for the mother bird to vomit leftovers into their mouths.

"You're insane." Spat Vance.

Sned made no reply to that, which seemed to have irked Vance more than any words could. He wondered if the constipated expression Vance bore now was similar to what he must've looked like when he was confronted by Clementine in the street. Sned's distaste for himself grew even more. They should've killed him. After what he's done. Sned had been lying to himself all these years about his role in the fire. Denying the truth of his complicity and stupidity which saw so many dead. He had been tricked by that bastard, Moss. Blinded by his gifts. Twenty people died because of his petty desire to rise above the rags of the Mud District. Clementine's sister. Naz's mother. And many more.

The worst thing was that Sned begged for his life to be spared. Clementine granted him that mercy. Only now did Sned realize that it wasn't mercy at all which stayed Clementine's hand. It was a punishment. A rather cruel one at that. To let him live and wallow away the rest of his years knowing all the while the cost of his actions. He denied them up until the very point when he was dragged into the councilor's chambers and thrown at his feet. Something died inside Sned that night. Something crucial.

Another whimper from the wall crevasse brought Sned's attention back to the gang of thugs before him. The small cry was unmistakably that of a child.

"We don't deserve to leave this place." Said Sned.

"Again with that shit?" With a gesture from Vance one of his subordinates came forward. The brute twirled her pickaxe, no doubt thinking herself strong. Sned moved to meet her, his shovel swishing through the air. The flat end cracked the woman on the side of her skull and she teetered over.

Spitting out curses, Vance and the rest of his posse advanced. Sned threw his shovel into their ranks, delaying their efforts. He managed to retrieve the fallen woman's pickaxe, which he buried into the chest of the first man who reached him. They were slow. Much slower than someone like Kiera. Sned wrenched the pickaxe free and prepared to face the others. They came at him all at once with less grace than even Naz. Sned fought them off, desperate to buy time.

A shovel swing caught him on the elbow, shattering the joint. Sned's left arm fell limp to his side, but he fought on with his right. His wild swings forced them back. That is until Vance shoved his way past the others. He ducked low and slipped through Sned's flailing pickaxe. Razor sharp talons shredded lines of red across Sned's throat. He toppled to the ground, clutching at his neck. Hot liquid seeped forth, draining away what energy remained to him. Vance's brutes continued their assault. Shovels and pickaxes bit into his flesh. Overkill for an already finished job. As his vision faded Sned caught sight of a small boy slipping out of the crevasse and fleeing down the cavern before anyone could notice him.

 _Run boy, run! You've been saved! Saved by the King of Mud!_

The point of a pickaxe descended followed by the blissful release of total blackness.

* * *

Mole ran as fast as his short legs could take him. The adrenaline pumping through his veins served to drive him farther. He didn't recognize the man who saved him. A stranger's face had met his eyes when he wiggled his way free of the crevasse. A stranger had sacrificed their life for his. Never had Mole witnessed such selflessness. He didn't even think such a pure man existed in the Quarry. Now he was dead. Mole vowed to remember his face. Not as he last saw it, sickly pale and pained, but as he imagined it would be outside the Quarry. Full of life and beaming with kindness. The face of a real hero.

Spotting sunlight further up ahead, Mole picked up his pace. He rushed into the blinding sun and ran face first into someone else. Mole bounced off and fell onto his back. His vision slowly cleared and the shape of a man took came into view standing above him. Tall and silver haired. Mole wasn't sure how, but he knew this was the man who stood atop the Quarry earlier. What did Vance call him? The Ranger.

The Ranger looked down at Mole with such sad eyes. The depth of their pain incomprehensible. He knelt and held out his hand. Slowly, Mole sat up and placed his tiny fist in the Ranger's firm palm. The Ranger smiled and Mole knew at that point he was free.

* * *

Dwain shuffled along further up the line. He had been lucky. When the Rangers attacked he was on the first level of the pit, tending to his stump wrist. He isolated himself in one of the thousands of abandoned caverns. There none of his fellow Ophidians would hear him scream when he changed his bandaging. Looking weak was not an option for Dwain, yet it became his saving grace.

With the Quarry's temporary shutdown most of the slaves like Dwain took shelter in the caverns as to avoid the searing sun. Drawn by the roar of combat and the crackling clouds Dwain along with what looked like every man, woman, and child in the Quarry came out of hiding to witness. Dwain knew that with the majority of the Ophidians at Refuge the remaining skeleton crew would not be able to handle an ambush by the whole Ranger Division. The fight above didn't last long. After rolling in filth and tearing his clothes Dwain looked the part of just another slave. Even his serpent's fangs tattoo which marked him as an Ophidian was gone along with his right hand. He blended in, just another faceless slave.

The proceedings that followed the Ranger's initial victory went smoothly. Not very surprising considering these people had been taking orders most of their lives. What's a few more to them? The Rangers started from the bottom of the pit where the slaves were most in danger and worked their way up in clearing the Quarry. The lifts had been in constant motion for days now. Up and down and up and down. Ferrying the slaves below to the top of the Quarry. A slow but steady process.

At first the slaves were confused. Scared even. Especially those old crows who had been here for decades. Change was a foreign concept to them. Life in the Quarry had always been one of status quo. No matter how many times the Quarry changed hands the Foreman remained. He but dealt with new business partners. Even when Ira Glass took over her benefits of increased rations and elongated sleep schedules did little to inspire these insensate people. The Ophidians made sure of that. If only just to spite Ira for casting them aside. But now, with every passing hour the prospect of freedom filled their bellies with hope.

On every level slaves huddled together in thick throngs. Disguised, Dwain joined the flock waiting in line at the lifts. Whispers trickled down the ranks of freed slaves as to what awaited them. Upon reaching the top they would be escorted to a formal desk the Ranger Captain had set up. The names of each and every slave were jotted down into the logbook. According to the rumors swirling around, the Rangers then offered a choice. To depart and rejoin the world in whatever way they see fit. Or stay and join them to find and claim a piece of land for everyone to call home. _How sanctimonious is that?_

On the second day, more people arrived from Refuge. Dwain had hoped it would be the bulk of the Ophidian forces returning from their conquest. However, it was readily apparent that this was not the case. According to the whispers of the few slaves on the first level the newcomers took away the Ophidian prisoners and resupplied the Rangers. This shocked Dwain. If the city was supporting this liberation then something must have happened. Something drastic. Whatever the case, he wasn't sticking around to find out.

On the third day, the lifts stopped on the first level. Finally. Those like Dwain who were too weak to climb the twenty-foot steep slope to the surface boarded the lift. Up top was more waiting. The line leading to the rumored desk was a slow one. Those freed slaves who decided to stay had set up a camp of their own in the neighboring woods. Tents were pitched and cook fires illuminated the twilight of the forest. More than half of them stayed judging by their numbers.

There were others as well. From Refuge, Dwain guessed. Doctors and merchants and even normal looking civilians helping the freed slaves. So, the secret was out. Whatever this implied had no effect on Dwain's starved mind. Two days and a night he lived as one of the slaves, feasting on scraps and muddied water. Just two days and he barely survived. Thankfully, fresh food and drink were passed along down the line. The water that dribbled past Dwain's lips never tasted so sweet.

As the day dragged on Dwain advanced his position in the queue. By sunset he saw the desk and the one sitting behind it. None other than Captain Ashur. The grizzled ranger who took his hand. Dwain hadn't the strength to fuel the black flames of hatred in his growling stomach. He hid his stump in the folds of his clothes. His face was already smeared in a mask of grime. He hoped it was enough.

Upon reaching the desk Ashur readied his pen over the thick log. "Your name, Sir."

"Herb." He replied, "Herb Johnson." Without even meaning to his voice was altered to a scratchy alien thing even to his own ears. His parched throat helped with that. Ashur scribbled down the name as two other Rangers flipped through their own books. The source of the line's slowness revealed itself. They were checking the names and faces with known criminals condemned here. Smart. There were more than a handful in the pit. As they searched their lists, Ashur studied Dwain who stared at the log, refusing to make eye contact. He was locked by the Captain's stare for only a minute yet it was enough to make him sweat. When the two rangers both gave their approvals, Ashur waved him on.

"You're free to go." Said Ashur, "Return to whatever family or home you were torn from if you so wish. Or you can stay. We intend to make a place for ourselves in this world. You can be a part of that. We can offer shelter and protection from the Grimm."

"Thank you." Mumbled Dwain, "But if it's all the same, I'd like to be on my own. There is power in numbers, yes, but the larger the group the more we might attract the creatures."

"This is true, but it's our choice. One we're willing to risk. Go on, you're free to go."

Dipping his head in a small nod, Dwain set out. He trudged through the makeshift camp, swiping food and supplies as he went. He'd need them if he wanted to make it through the night. No one paid him any mind. He was just another brave soul vanishing into the gloom, probably never to be heard of again. Dwain had to be quick. The longer he stayed at the Quarry the more likely he would've been recognized. He was well known to the slaves of the lower levels. If they found him…Well, better to be eaten by the Grimm.

Dwain didn't make it that far from camp when he heard a branch snap in the brush behind him. He whirled around. Nothing. Not a person or animal in sight. Startled, he picked up his pace. With one hand, he pushed through the green of the forest. Faster and faster he went. His stolen supplies fell one by one out of his insecure wrappings, but he didn't stop to retrieve them. He didn't dare. Something was after him. He knew it by the cold sweat on the back of his neck.

All sense of direction and destination were abandoned. Dwain simply ran as fast as he could. He craned his neck to peer over his shoulder, but there was nothing in the dark behind him. When he swiveled his head back around he saw her. Directly in his path. It was too late to slow down. She caught him by the throat and using the force of his momentum threw him up against a tree. His head smacked against the bark with a crunch.

The faunus bared her teeth, "Remember me?"

Dwain choked an incomprehensible response. His feet dangled above the air, kicking helplessly.

"You said you had a friend who would love to buy a faunus' tail." Her sleek panther tail coiled tight around his stump wrist, causing him to howl in pain. "I'd like you to introduce me."

* * *

They put a bag over his head. He could only guess where they were taking him. When the bumpiness of the gravel road leading out of the Quarry was long past the Foreman heard another noise. An ambiance of voices and cars. Not a totally unfamiliar sound, but a forgotten one. It had been a very long time since he was in Refuge. Decades.

The Foreman was ushered here and there, pushed about like livestock. When they finally removed the bag from his head he was sitting in a dark room. Silence encapsulated it. There was not a peep to be heard from the outside world. There were no windows either and only one door, which was guarded by a beautiful young woman. A pinch of light brown freckles dotted the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She carried a large instrument in her hands, almost as tall as she was. The Foreman sat uncomfortable beneath her cool gaze.

"I want to talk to Colton Moss." He said, while anxiously picking his scabbing wounds.

The woman voiced no reply, but just stared at him. The Foreman shut closed his mouth and looked down. Confident woman like her intimidated him. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long before the door opened and a man stepped inside. Well-dressed he was with a blue bowtie and shiny white gloves. He carried with him a suitcase, which he placed on the table between them. The man stopped and stared at the Foreman a moment before turning to regard the woman.

"Thank you, Melody. I'll take it from here."

The sandy haired woman gave the slightest of nods before slipping out the door. With her gone the well-dressed man turned his full attention back on the Foreman. He stared in silence for a long while. The Foreman could feel those eyes on him, slithering up and down his skin like a snake. Slowly, a smile crept into the man's features and he sat down.

"My name is Roland Teal."

"Don't look like police."

Roland Teal applauded enthusiastically, "Correct. I had the City Guard drop you into my lap."

"I want to talk to Colton Moss."

"You will, soon. But first…" Teal undid the suitcase latches and opened the case. He spun it around so the Foreman could see its contents. Inside rested an old dirtied pickaxe. "Recognize it?" asked Roland Teal.

"It's a pickaxe."

Another sarcastic round of applause, "Correct again, but you can do better than that. Come on now, look closely."

The Foreman leaned forward. It was indeed a pickaxe, but a little smaller than the ones he typically uses. A model of its scale would be used for one handed excavation or given to a tunneller. The handle had been worn and discolored proving long-term use. Grit still clung to the edges of the metal head.

"Who's is it?" asked the Foreman.

"Don't you remember? You're the one who gave it to me."

Roland Teal unbuttoned his shirt at the wrist and rolled up the sleeves past his elbows. He then peeled away his white gloves, revealing heavily scarred hands. Puckered and spotted from past callouses. Teal flexed and wiggled his fingers in the overhead light as if he hadn't seen them in years. The Foreman was slow to understand at first, but those scars were unmistakable.

"You're…"

"I was your favorite once." He said, his tone reminiscent, "Your best even, hard working as I was. Did you think I died in those tunnels? You should've known better, Foreman. Should've checked. But then again you don't want people doubting your reputation. Am I right? Funny how mistakes from our past come back to haunt us. Alas, my tunnel is no more. Used as it were for another's purpose. I suppose it was a symbolic sort of justice, it being used to help bring about an end to the Quarry."

The Foreman's eyes flicked down to the pickaxe. He imagined breaking the man's skull with it. Then he'd leave this place. Maybe find that Melody girl if he got the chance. He caught a hint of an amused smile from Teal as if the man were reading his thoughts.

"Go on," said Roland, "pick it up."

Fear pumped through the Foreman's veins, the poison paralyzing his body. The man going by the name Roland Teal simply smiled at him, waiting.

"Pick it up." He said again this time more assertive than playful.

The Foreman swallowed a lump in his throat and reached for the pickaxe.

* * *

A dreamless sleep welcomed Runt Braun in its null embrace. The lack of haunting nightmares gave Runt cause to believe he was dead. He drifted in the dark, lost in an empty ocean. His body was calm and numb. If this was death then he would not complain. Here at least the waters were peaceful. The undisturbed sea he drifted on was thick as ink. It stretched in all directions. No horizon line was visible because the ocean was the same black as the sky.

In the distance, something like thunder boomed. Its reverberation sent ripples through the ocean surface. The percussion grew louder. Its piercing screech like the splitting of a mighty glacier. The once quiet ocean turned violent. Waves descended in great numbers, crashing against one another. Runt thrashed about trying to keep his head above the black water. Something sharp drove into his palms and plunged him into the inky depths. Down he went as if bound to an anchor.

From below came a cacophony of voices. More than there ever had been before. Despite their dissonance they were single in purpose. Their clamor reached out from the ocean's bed, taking shape. A thousand hands grabbed hold of Runt, dragging him further down. His back hit the ocean floor yet still they pulled. They were unrelenting in their desire. Their need for him. Each incoherent voice was a plea. The ocean floor resisted his descent, but slowly gave way. The pressure in Runt's palms twisted and he screamed. Just in time for the mud to fill his lungs.

Runt awoke with his heart beating like a jackrabbit. Sunlight seeped through the shuttered windows. Behind his eyes that thunder still throbbed. He tried to rise from the bed he laid in, but the throbbing grew worse so he fell back down. The bed creaked beneath his weight. Runt recognized the small unfurnished room he dwelt in. One of many in Coll's inn. Clementine sat in the corner of the room on a plain stool. He was bent over with his head down as if asleep and both hands were overlapped on the top of his gnarled cane.

With some effort, Runt wriggled himself into a sitting position. His strength flickered like a dim hearth. Old Gran's stitches sewed together numerous slashes across his arms. The metal plates he had strapped across his forearms prevented many of the wounds from cutting deep, but it was not enough it to fully protect him. The sheer number of cuts would take a while to heal. The gash across his cheek from his first fight with Oren had yet to even fade. Linen bandages wrapped around his palms and backhand. Runt clenched his fingers finding himself unable to make a fist.

"You lost a lot of blood." said Clementine without looking up. "I feared you would not wake."

Runt's memories of what happened before he blacked out never left him. Even on that empty ocean he knew. Only it didn't matter then because he was dead. "Clementine…What am I doing here?"

"To make things easier for Old Gran and her team of cutters all the injured have been moved to under one roof. Coll's inn was the only place with enough rooms."

"I should be dead."

"And yet you are not."

"Where is Kiera?"

"Gone." Answered Clementine, "For good this time, I think."

Runt gathered what energy he had and attuned himself with his semblance just a little bit. Opening his ears to the city unleashed a wave of nausea. This was not the Refuge he had come to know. The Flower District was devoid of music. The crowds that once flooded the Trade District were mute. Even the clang of production in the Craft District had ceased. The whole city was overcome with the solemn shifting of stone and muffled voices. Runt separated his connection. Sweat beaded his brow.

"What have you done?"

Clementine looked up then. Heavy bags fell under his hooded eyes as if he hadn't slept in days. "I did what I thought necessary. Even if we defeated the Ophidians it wouldn't have had the impact needed to bring Ira down. We needed to create a public display of losses that not even she could walk away from unscathed. A message loud and clear across Mistral."

"A public display of losses?" repeated Runt in disbelief, "Is that what you're calling it? Is this how you justify yourself?"

Clementine's knuckles whitened on the cane, "Colton Moss is dead. Ira Glass is dead. The Ophidians are broken and scattered to the winds. As we speak Captain Ashur and his Rangers are preparing for an exodus, guiding the freed slaves from the Quarry to find a new home. A new life. One free of servitude and free of this city's needs. _That_ is how I justify my actions."

Runt was silent for a time, stunned by Clementine's words. What he said should've made Runt happy, but it had the opposite effect. The Quarry was liberated. What they set out to achieve was done and yet the victory felt hollow in Runt's soul. "You give life by delivering death?"

"How else do you pay for it?" he snapped back, "You knew this is what would've had to happen. We were told as much."

"What difference is there now between you and them?"

Clementine paled at the question. What anger he held drained from his body. For the first time, Runt saw the face Risa had described to him. When Clementine would come back from his trips into the city, nervously poking his head out from around the corner. Knowing full well what he had done to upset her. Dismayed and ashamed, yet unapologetic.

"You bombed their streets with Dust. You used children. Sent them into dark tunnels." Runt hesitated, overcome with sudden dread, "Do they even know what they've done? What they helped you commit?"

"They are still children." Said Clementine, his voice dead. "In time, they'll forget the truth of it. I'll see it repainted so that all they remember is that they helped save lives."

"And what about you? Will you convince yourself of the same?"

"I hold no delusions over what I've done. The lives I've taken and the livelihoods I've ruined. They are mine alone."

"Do you even know how many?"

"Thirteen." whispered Clementine, "Thirteen lives were lost in the other districts. Their names are seared into my brain. I've fashioned of them ghosts, Runt. They will never be far behind me."

Runt trembled, still failing to make a fist in either hand. "Risa wouldn't have wanted this."

"I am past that now. Those deaths are not in her name." The serious timbre of his voice caused Runt to shudder. He stared at the younger man, unable to recognize his all too familiar features. Clementine pushed himself to his feet. "Refuge is in a state of restoration. They could use a skilled carpenter like you to help rebuild."

"Where are you going?"

Clementine paused at the door, "I have a grave to visit. And Kiera is gone. I don't believe she is with the Rangers. The last thing she will want is to be around good company. I will endeavor to find her and help her along the path she is on."

"You would leave this city?" asked Runt, "Leave me?"

Clementine grimaced, "I despise Refuge and wish to be gone as soon as possible. Too long I have denied myself a life outside this valley. Would you join me?"

That last question was asked in desperation. Runt saw the need in his eyes. Clementine always relished his self-isolation, but now he was adrift and alone. More so than ever. If not physically then he no doubt imaged himself as such. An unwelcome sight to every face in every district. Even here.

"I can't." said Runt, tasting bitterness on his tongue. "They need me now more than ever."

Clementine's smile was brittle as if he expected such an answer, "That they do." Without another word, Clementine slipped through the door and out of sight.

A grim fatigue settled into Runt's bones. One birthed from paranoia and superstition. He didn't believe he would see Clementine again. The thought tortured him. He looked down at his uncurled hand. His twitching fingers pulled on damaged tendons. The way they were curled looked as if he were holding a heart in his palm. The ghostly shape of Risa's hand moved and settled into his own, a perfect fit. Her touch dissolved the exhaustion in his bones and Runt knew he would see his friend Clementine again. Of that he had no doubt.

Runt squeezed Risa's hand, clenching his fingers into a fist.

* * *

He never had much in terms of personal belongings. Still, looking upon the light traveler's sack left Clementine somewhat off-balance. His whole life seemed so small and yet his heart unwelcomingly heavy. The books would have to stay behind. All except one of course. They were too heavy to carry and they would doubtless be ruined or lost on the journey if taken in their entirety. He stared at the pot of dirt resting at the windowsill. The plant sprouting from its surface was dead. Shriveled and gray. Clementine thought about taking it with him. To continue his attempts to garden life as Risa had. Yet now it seemed so futile.

The floorboards of his home squeaked, announcing a new arrival. No one could sneak up on anyone in this district. _No one but Runt._ Clementine turned to regard whoever it may be. To his surprise, Blind Shan stepped into his living room.

"Young Clementine." She gave a gap-toothed smile in greeting.

"Shan."

"You're off then?" she asked.

Clementine squinted at her in suspicion. Of all the mysteries and curiosities he's entertained throughout his life, she was the first. The original. However, the wonder he once held as a child had withered to a husk. Wonder replaced with skepticism. That, Clementine knew, marked the beginning of the end for childhood. "Who are you, really?"

"Whatever do you mean?" asked Blind Shan, ever so innocently.

"Are you even blind?"

Her wrinkled eyelids compressed slightly before peeling back. What once may have been irides and pupils were lost in the silver storm that filled her eyes. "I am, but I can still see."

Clementine almost lost himself in that mystical gaze, "What do you see?"

"Potential." Answered Blind Shan, "I saw much of it in you when you were young. A potential for terrible greatness. One that may sour the world or brighten it some. Difficult to tell these things are. Life even to one such as me remains unpredictable. I merely hoped to coerce your mind to nurture the better part of your soul."

"What you're saying makes no sense. No one knows the future."

"I never said I did. I can only glimpse one's potential. The many different paths awaiting them." Blind Shan moved closer towards him, "Creation and destruction is a choice and it takes one with knowledge to know which to choose at the right time. My hope-my belief, is that you would one day be this person."

Clementine glanced at his belongings still needing to be packed and spotted the old book of fairy tales. "You filled my head with your stories. Making me believe things untrue to guide the course of my life just to fulfill your own fantasies."

"Nothing I've ever told you was a lie."

Clementine was shaken by her belief in that statement. He smiled despite the pain twisting in his gut. With arms held out to his sides he asked, "What do you see when you look upon me now?"

Blind Shan's clouded eyes recoiled from the sight of him. He could not tell where her anguish came from, disappointment or shame. "You tread murky waters, young Clementine."

"In a world such as ours is it any wonder?" Clementine turned back around to finish packing. Her presence remained behind him as it always has in his own mind. "I thought you were my friend."

"I am your friend." She retorted.

"Then answer me truthfully as a friend would. Why were you in the Buffer that night? Did you know what was going to happen to me?" he struggled to keep his voice steady, "Did you know about the fire to come?"

Blind Shan hesitated before responding, "It was a possibility."

Clementine whirled on her, "And you said nothing?!"

She remained silent against his fury.

"Why?" he croaked.

"Young Clementine. Sweet Clementine. My words will only hurt you."

"Why?!"

"Because it needed to happen." She said, her voice impossibly soft, "What potential I saw in you did not exist without that event.

Clementine fell away, his right leg failing beneath him. He balanced himself against the wall with one hand while the other clutched his face. His fingers moved across the faint scar surrounding his left eye. Fingernails dug into his skin deep enough to draw blood from the old wound.

"I wish I died then rather than all those who did."

"That is the mindset which I had hoped would blossom in you." Said Blind Shan, "You understand sacrifice and loss. This gives you perspective and most importantly empathy."

Rage overcame Clementine, but it did not come from the black pit in his gut. No, it came from his heart. He advanced on her, swinging a wild fist. Blind Shan caught it with her frail looking hand. Her grip was steel and with one open palmed strike to the chest she sent him flying back against the wall. The pain that erupted in his leg burgeoned white hot.

"I don't expect you to understand why I did what I did." She said, "I don't even expect your forgiveness though it would be a welcome gift. I am concerned with a bigger picture. One that spreads all across Remnant not just one city."

Clementine was slow in picking himself up. The anger that overcame him was knocked out in that blow along with his breath. Without saying another word, he grabbed his traveler's pack and plant pot before limping from his home.

Blind Shan followed him out at some distance. "If you ever want to pick up this conversation again. I will be here. I will always be here. You may not believe me now but I _am_ your friend, young Clementine."

Her words chased after him. Clementine did not slow down for them. He held the dead plant in his hands as if it were his own soul. Once again, he trekked through the ruinous state of Refuge. He left its gates not once looking back. The thought of seeing Adriane again kept him moving forward. Monnie and Merri too. Clementine vowed to visit them at Spool's old village in the glades. If only for a little while before moving on. Far from this city he will go. Far from its confusion and sorrow. From every street which held bittersweet memories. He'd purge Refuge from his soul if such a thing was possible. Yet, Clementine knew that one day he would return. Yes, he would return.


	27. Epilogue

A fresh blanket of snow layered the ground, a sheet of white in all directions. Its surface smooth and undisturbed except for the imprint of hooves leading down the old road. A biting chill whisked through Clementine's heavy winter coat. The horse beneath him plotted along, unmindful to the cold lifeless terrain surrounding them. Leafless trees waved at Clementine as he passed. Their gnarled swaying branches like claws raking the air. He leaned back in the saddle, allowing his hood to fall away from his face. The overcast sky shimmered gray. Leisurely snowflakes descended from above, one landing on Clementine's cherry red nose.

The gaunt woods gave way to empty pastures. Snow covered the far-ranging fields without an animal in sight. A dilapidated stone fence outlined the farmland. Further ahead there was a dim red barn and the farmhouse itself. Both were in an equal state of disrepair. The farmhouse roof looked to have caved in from the weight of the collecting snow and the barn double doors were left ajar, allowing the white wind to blow through.

Clementine reined in outside the farmhouse. Swinging his bum leg over the back of his horse, he dismounted. The snow reached up to his ankles. The farmhouse reminded Clementine of the ramshackle streets closest to the Spine. Only instead of sinking into mud the building was getting buried in snow. Just like those empty streets this farmhouse too appeared abandoned. Clementine brushed his horse's neck, feeling the warmth of its life through his gloves.

"It would appear we traveled all this way for nothing." Whispered Clementine, more to himself than the horse. He learned long ago that the faithful beast was indifferent to anything he had to say. The only sign of recognition was the occasional glance at its rider, never holding for long.

Near the corner of the road next to the stone fence was a knocked over sign protruding from a mound of white. Clementine made his way towards it, boots crunching in the dense snow. He knelt and wiped clear the surface of the sign.

The address carved into the wooden plank was faded, but legible. This was the right place, which had Clementine worried. The only sign of life were the hares and deer that skirted the farmland's edges. None moved past the stone fence. Not because of its high walls. Rather the opposite was true. What kept them at a distance was unknown to Clementine. Most animals he came across in his journey so far did not fear him. To them he might as well have been a ghost.

The crack of wood splintered the still air. Clementine spun around. A man stood on the porch of the farmhouse holding the end of a woodcutter's axe, which was buried into the porch railing.

"Can I help you?" asked the farmer in a gruff but not unkindly voice.

Clementine pushed himself to his feet, "Are you Sap?"

The farmer's eyes blazed and he wrenched his axe free, ready to use it. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Augustus Clementine. I am a friend of Kiera's."

The mention of her name shocked the man. His axe dipped slightly before immediately returning to the ready. "Prove it."

"If you would allow me…" Clementine moved to his uninterested horse and rummaged through his belongings attached to the saddle. He pulled out a bundle of letters and held them in the air. "These are hers. Each and every one of them was addressed to you at this location."

"How did you come by them?"

"I borrowed them from under the floorboards of her home. I thought it likely you might want proof."

"This proves nothing." Said Sap, "Those could've easily been taken from a corpse."

"That they could be, but they weren't. Kiera and I were companions during her time at Refuge. Until severe circumstances drove us apart. We didn't always agree on things, but we shared much together. There is little proof I can offer you other than my knowledge of her appearance and personality. Even to her friends she was closed off. Never one to talk about herself. I didn't even know you existed until I found these letters. But judging by the sheer number of them and the consistency in which they were written I can only assume you two were close. I'd guess you were her father, but it's hard for me to see a resemblance."

Sap lowered the axe to his side, "I am, I think the closest thing she has to a father and in many ways, she is like a daughter to me. Tell me something. What have you two disagreed on?"

"Conflict." Answered Clementine, "And ways of going about it. I was forbearing while she preferred a more direct, hands on approach."

His smile hinted at a deep sense of pride, "That she does. What brings you here, Augustus Clementine?"

"Kiera has been gone from Refuge for some time. I had hoped to find her here."

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I haven't seen or heard from Kiera in many years." There was a forlornness to that statement, which Clementine recognized.

Clementine hefted the bundle of letters in his hand, "She wrote to you still. At least once a week. Sometimes more. However, I'm afraid where we were had poor mailing services. Still, she did not forsake you."

Old man Sap wavered under the unexpected comfort. He moved off in the direction of a stack of logs nearby. "We'll talk more inside. You look to have been on the road a while. I'll get a fire going as to melt the cold off your bones. You can hobble your horse in the barn. Should be plenty of feed and a trough with a water spigot. If the pipes hadn't frozen over then it should flow well enough. Your mount will be shielded from the night's cold, maybe better than we will." He gave a hearty laugh, his breath frosting the air.

"Much appreciated." Clementine led his horse by the reins towards the barn. The large double doors gave way to an empty hold. Sure enough there was plenty of feed. Luckily, the cool water flowed from the spigot, filling the trough. As his horse drank Clementine unsaddled the animal.

"Get some rest." Said Clementine. The horse flicked its momentary gaze on him before almost immediately bringing its attention back to the water. Clementine left most of his supplies in the barn, taking with him a bit of food, his bedroll, and Kiera's letters.

Sap's voice beckoned him inside the farmhouse. The man squatted near the hearth, fanning the flames at its core. The axe leaned against the fireplace. Beside it were the chopped away bits of the logs that were too wet to burn. After a few moment's a hungry fire warmed the living room. Sap held his gloved hands out almost touching the flames.

"Ah, that's better." He gestured to one of the two seats he had pulled close to the fireplace. "Please, sit."

Clementine lowered himself into the fur cushioned seat, grateful to have something more comfortable than bare ground or saddle to rest on. Sap went about removing the top-heavy layers of his winter clothing and setting them to hang on a pole off to the side. In the light of the fire Clementine got his first real look of the man. He had unruly salt-and-pepper hair and a brawny build. There were few wrinkles to give credit to his age but those he did bore were deep almost like scars. The bits of bark from the stripped logs were pristinely cut, hinting at a deft hand behind his raw strength.

Sap went about fixing a pot of tea above the fire. As he did so Clementine studied what he could of the farmhouse. There wasn't much to see from his place beside the hearth. Except for one thing. Above the cobbled fireplace, mounted on a wooden plaque was a sword. The shine of the single edged blade was uncommonly white. Not even the gloom of the farmhouse could quench its glow. The hilt was plain and the grip modest in length enough to be held with two hands if need be. The sword's pommel was a roundish stone the color of syrup. Clementine realized it was indeed hardened tree sap. Encased inside was what looked like a cracked egg seconds away from hatching and yet frozen in time.

Finished setting up the teapot, Sap fell back into his own chair. "It will be ready soon. I hope you like it for its all I have to offer I'm afraid."

"I'm sure it will be delicious."

"Don't get your hopes up." Sap snickered, "I was never very good with this type of stuff. Unusual for a farmer, don't you think? I harvest great stocks of ingredients and meat, yet when it comes to preparing any of it for consumption I am at a loss."

Clementine leaned across handing him the neatly bundled letters, "These belong to you."

Sap took them into his hands as if he were holding fragile pottery. The letters rested in his lap. He stared at the sheer number of them, not once moving to open any.

"Thank you for delivering these. I am in your debt."

"It was no problem."

"Might I ask, why is it you came all this way looking for Kiera? Why did you think she'd be here?"

"The circumstances of her departure from Refuge left me fraught with worry. There was a conflict there in which she took part in with another by her side. I don't doubt he will be mentioned in the letters you hold. He was named Buckets by all who knew him. Kiera loved him a great deal and he loved her."

Sap's eyes went wide, "Kiera? In love? I never thought the day would come. He must be quite a man, this Buckets."

"That he was." His tone betrayed all the information Sap needed to hear.

"But no longer?"

Clementine couldn't meet the old man's eyes. "No longer."

They shared a moment of silence where the only noise in the house was the crackling of the fire and the chill breeze seeping in through the caved roof on the floor above.

"Many mourned his death," continued Clementine, "none more so than Kiera. Buckets' death wounded her more than any blade could. From that wound, she bleeds vengeance. Not just for the man who murdered her partner, for he was dealt with by another. Her pain is set loose on the entire world. When she left I had hoped she would return here to nurse an aching heart, but I knew just as likely that she set out in a search to bloody her knuckles."

Clementine watched as his words dulled the edge of Sap's gaze. The man scratched at his beard as if finding it irritating against his skin. "This…troubles me. Not long ago before the winter snows fell I saw a number of travelers. More than usual in the fall. They came alone or in groups as large as twenty. Despite whatever differences they had I could not help but notice the similarities between them. Their guarded gazes towards strangers. Their ragged clothing. Even the way they walked. As if carrying some great burden on their backs.

"I got the same feeling when my daughter first brought Kiera through the front door. Hand in hand they were, yet I saw how uncomfortable that made the little faunus girl." Sap shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "Those I spoke with said little, but it was enough for me to piece some form of story together. Tell me, did this conflict in Refuge have anything to do with slavery?"

"Yes." Answered Clementine, "Thousands labored in a slave Quarry outside Refuge. Our conflict saw them freed. Those travelers who passed by were most likely freed slaves making their way back out into the world."

"I guessed as much. I see now the severe circumstances which drove Kiera to the extreme. Kiera has always been strong. The defiance in her is one that could only be forged in the chains of oppression. I share your worry for her. Kiera will seek out trouble."

Clementine was curious what Sap meant by the chains of oppression, but he let it be. "And find it, I wager."

The teapot above the fire screeched its finish. Sap groaned and stood from his chair. He filled two cups of the steaming liquid, passing one to Clementine. The cup warmed his hands a great deal. After a minute of waiting and blowing on the tea, Clementine gave it a sip. It tasted of ground up herbs. Plain in its flavor, but it warmed his stomach nonetheless.

"Will you return to Refuge?" asked Spool after a few gulps of tea.

Clementine shook his head, "I will look for her still. I am traveling you see. Eager to take in all of Remnant's beauty."

"It will be dangerous. Alone and crippled as you are." Sap must've saw the grimace on Clementine's face for he quickly followed up, "Forgive me. You hide your limp well, but I have a good eye for such things."

"It's alright." Said Clementine, "I can move well enough on my own. No need to concern yourself. Will you not look for her?"

Sap sighed, "I wish I could. Kiera is like a daughter to me. The years she spent on this farm were some of the happiest of my life. But I cannot help her. It's not my place to turn her from the path she's chosen. Both my daughters left this farm in pursuit of what might await them in this life. I begin to think you would understand that. I will be here should they find the need or desire to return. Even in the winters such as this one where farming becomes an impossibility, I will not venture to some village to wait out the snow. I will remain in case either return."

"I envy them, to have such a father in their life."

Sap shared with Clementine a smile warmer than any cozy hearth, "They drive me insane. The two of them. Kiera was ever the wild child, unwilling to be tamed. There were times when I'd find her running on all fours, chasing after animals, herding them into their pens. Her belligerence was that of one on top of the food chain. Even the Grimm who occasionally attacked my fields were no match to her ferocity. I once saw her riding on the back of an Ursa while gnawing off its ears with her teeth. She almost gave me a heart attack."

Clementine chuckled softly, "I can only imagine a young Kiera. She must've been quite the handful."

"You'd think she be the worst, acting out of her own reckless instincts. But my daughter, kind as she is, possesses a selfless sense of responsibility and duty. No doubt inherited from her mother. By the time she was fourteen she was running this farm." His nostalgic words though happy brought tears to the man's eyes.

"Where is she now? Your daughter."

Sap wiped the tears from his eyes before any touched his cheeks. "Out in the world somewhere. Performing feats of heroism, no doubt. Same as Kiera she's yet to return. Though I do hear from her on occasion."

"You worry about her." Observed Clementine.

"It's the company she keeps I distrust." He said, his tone harsh, "They don't care for her, not really. They only care for what she could do for them." Clementine sensed a deep and painful history hiding in those words, something far beyond that of a simple Mistral farmer.

"You are more than you seem."

Sap regarded Clementine. His golden eyes captured the heat of the fire. "As are you, Augustus Clementine. I glimpse all that which you hide behind your veiled eyes and I shudder. There is a shroud over you. One I suspect draped during the conflict in Refuge."

Clementine said nothing in immediate response. He but sipped his tea some more, studying the sword above the fireplace. "And you, Sap, are a warrior. Or at least used to be."

"How can you tell?"

"I've spent time around warriors before. I know one when I see one."

Sap poured himself some more tea, "I was no warrior. Just a soldier."

Clementine cocked his head at that statement, "The difference being?"

"Warriors are true to themselves. They fight for their own morals and ideas. They might share these thoughts with a few, but ultimately a warrior's path is their own. A soldier is different. A disciplined soldier follows orders. No matter how much it goes against the grain of their own beliefs. They do what needs to be done. Without question. Without remorse. Despite their own thoughts on the matter. All war depends on it."

Clementine considered Sap's words, recognizing the distinction he was making. "You speak of war, but the last real war was the Great War and you don't look that old."

Sap's smile was thin, "No, I suppose I don't."

Something about his response bothered Clementine. Sap's solemn turn of mood hinted at more than he could guess. This surrogate father of Kiera's was what he said. A soldier. The simple truth of that was undeniable, yet it still boggled Clementine's mind. Before he could formulate any further questions, Sap stood from his chair.

"It will be dark soon." He said, "With the roof collapsed it's better to sleep down here tonight, near the fire. You can stay if you wish. As long as you like."

"Thank you, but I plan to leave come the morning."

"Will you have breakfast with me then? I would enjoy the company."

"Of course."

"You say you are traveling Remnant to take in its beauty. But I feel as if I should warn you. Just as there is beauty there is also ugliness. In my lifetime, I've been around the world and seen many things. Bloody feuds. Deaths rising like walls all around. Acts of horror so cruel they still keep me up at night." Sap stared into the fire a good long while before whatever sadness gripped him melted away. "But there is always more. I've seen storms bend to a single individual's will. I've seen leaves harden to ice sharper than iron in a few blinks of an eye. Things of wonder. You should take heed and brace yourself to witness both of what I describe."

"I will."

"Good." Sap threw on his heavy layers and picked up his axe, "I'll go get some more wood for the fire. We'll need it if we want the flames to last through the night." Before he left the room, Clementine called out to him.

"Sap."

The brawny man turned to regard his guest, "Yes?"

"I will be traveling for a long time I suspect. During which I will be searching for Kiera. If you'd allow me, I can also keep an eye out for your other daughter. All I need is her name."

He smiled at the gesture, his expression grateful. "Amber. Her name is Amber."


End file.
